Finished up, pulled Vatsa up by the hair, went to the city, met Abhra (about a year and half it's been apparently), saw Moch and Shruti for a split second before they flew off somewhere, met Harshit Sahai for a while, caught up with Slumdog Millionaire at forty second street, came back and watched an hour of Sorry Bhai before losing a couple of molars because of excessive teeth grinding, saw Abhra off, managed to talk on the phone with Swamy and Aparna, came back home and watched Dil Se again.
The Wagoner in me was regaled with infinite stories of intrigue and gossip, of excellence and failures, of hook ups and break ups, of permutations and combinations, of trials and tribulations, of oldies and newbies and more.
Abhra is a treasure trove of information. And I am an undercover cop who's forgotten his mission statement.
...
Slumdog's awesome, but not ecstasy inducing (the way City of God was). Most brilliant were some infinite dedication to Hindi films lurking in every nook and corner. Most obvious among them include those to Black Friday, Zanjeer, Deewar, Guide and Satya.
This is the second time I saw Dil Se. Liked it even more. Santosh Sivan is brilliant. So is Mani Ratnam.
Preity Zinta. What a debut! She looks like a kid and a mighty sweet one at that. Yes...those were the days when I was in love with her. Much before the time she morphed into an old hag one arbit night.
Time for catching up on sleep.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Only Grudgingly So
Apparently our country is in turmoil and big shit has happened. Every self respecting blogger has a thing or two to say about the terror attacks in Mumbai. And although Nanga Fakir has absolutely no shred of what colloquially goes by as 'self respect', he thinks that it will be totally uncool not to write a post on what's hot these days (though it's done only grudgingly so).
The people are up in arms. Bloggers are in a frenzy. Panels emerge spontaneously on TV stations offering instant analysis. Hotshot writers bemoan the sore wounds of "their city", Amitabh Bachchan sleeps with a pistol beneath his pillow (woe to the Thackeray's and the terrorists. After all, Amitabh's no Rajnikant). The Sharmajis and Sahani-sahabs all over India meet in drawing rooms and discuss how awesome it would be if the Khans next door would drown in their own vomit. Hip youngsters light candles and mourn the dead.
But it's amusing to see so many people outraged (many of whom I know well) sporting fancy, distraught and sometimes unintentionally funny status messages like "Question to Terrorists - Are 72 virgins worth all this shit?".
If a question were put that way, even Gandhiji might be in two minds, let alone a bunch of hormone addled twenty year olds. Those not turned on by such prospects must be closet homosexuals of the kind who cry after seeing Dostana; and our regular, terrorists-next-doors are anything but gay wimps. I can easily imagine such message sporting friends asking the question to terrorists (with self righteous indignation, one might add) and see the terrorists, just like Cartman in the Casa Bonita episode, close their eyes, smile smugly and say "Totally!"
[Don't get me wrong. I think it's totally cool that fat, rich, well-fed Indian kids in phoren lands, have to ejaculate, every now and then, status messages that show how sorry they are for their motherland's sorrows and how badly they want to fuck the terrorists and Pakistan over.]
What is also amusing is that top notch journalists and media big shots like Larry King and Rajdeep Sardesai hastily convene 'serious' panel discussions with pulp fiction writers like Deepak Chopra and Shoba De respectively who in turn offer deep and original insights into the problem of terrorism. (Why the fuck was Chetan Bhagat not invited? He even sells more, I'm told).
Apparently something needs to be done. Nanga Fakir is ready with suggestions.
For the rich, fat, guilty slob of an expat: Follow the news around on blogs and websites. Get fellow expats together, drink a little red wine and discuss the problems that plague India and offer ingenious solutions. If possible, gang up on a lone Pakistani and beat the shit out of him.
For the pulp fiction writer/socialite: Get ready to be featured on Barkha Dutt's special. Dress modestly and look serious. Try hard not to make a fool of yourself (read: "Don't speak").
For the young kid in his mating season: Protesting is the latest cool thing you could be a part of. Light candles, wear iridescent armbands, wear a pained look and strut around with a hip, stylish and liberal vocabulary. Your search for a mate is guaranteed to terminate this protest season.
For the common man: Don't take it to heart. Get busy living. Or get busy dying.
Links:
A hilarious post from the The Fake Blog of Rakesh Jhunjhunwala titled Shivraj Patil's Answering Machine.
Another very good post by Kartik Krishnan at Passion for Cinema.
The people are up in arms. Bloggers are in a frenzy. Panels emerge spontaneously on TV stations offering instant analysis. Hotshot writers bemoan the sore wounds of "their city", Amitabh Bachchan sleeps with a pistol beneath his pillow (woe to the Thackeray's and the terrorists. After all, Amitabh's no Rajnikant). The Sharmajis and Sahani-sahabs all over India meet in drawing rooms and discuss how awesome it would be if the Khans next door would drown in their own vomit. Hip youngsters light candles and mourn the dead.
But it's amusing to see so many people outraged (many of whom I know well) sporting fancy, distraught and sometimes unintentionally funny status messages like "Question to Terrorists - Are 72 virgins worth all this shit?".
If a question were put that way, even Gandhiji might be in two minds, let alone a bunch of hormone addled twenty year olds. Those not turned on by such prospects must be closet homosexuals of the kind who cry after seeing Dostana; and our regular, terrorists-next-doors are anything but gay wimps. I can easily imagine such message sporting friends asking the question to terrorists (with self righteous indignation, one might add) and see the terrorists, just like Cartman in the Casa Bonita episode, close their eyes, smile smugly and say "Totally!"
[Don't get me wrong. I think it's totally cool that fat, rich, well-fed Indian kids in phoren lands, have to ejaculate, every now and then, status messages that show how sorry they are for their motherland's sorrows and how badly they want to fuck the terrorists and Pakistan over.]
What is also amusing is that top notch journalists and media big shots like Larry King and Rajdeep Sardesai hastily convene 'serious' panel discussions with pulp fiction writers like Deepak Chopra and Shoba De respectively who in turn offer deep and original insights into the problem of terrorism. (Why the fuck was Chetan Bhagat not invited? He even sells more, I'm told).
Apparently something needs to be done. Nanga Fakir is ready with suggestions.
For the rich, fat, guilty slob of an expat: Follow the news around on blogs and websites. Get fellow expats together, drink a little red wine and discuss the problems that plague India and offer ingenious solutions. If possible, gang up on a lone Pakistani and beat the shit out of him.
For the pulp fiction writer/socialite: Get ready to be featured on Barkha Dutt's special. Dress modestly and look serious. Try hard not to make a fool of yourself (read: "Don't speak").
For the young kid in his mating season: Protesting is the latest cool thing you could be a part of. Light candles, wear iridescent armbands, wear a pained look and strut around with a hip, stylish and liberal vocabulary. Your search for a mate is guaranteed to terminate this protest season.
For the common man: Don't take it to heart. Get busy living. Or get busy dying.
Links:
A hilarious post from the The Fake Blog of Rakesh Jhunjhunwala titled Shivraj Patil's Answering Machine.
Another very good post by Kartik Krishnan at Passion for Cinema.
Friday, November 28, 2008
The Odour of Corruption
To all slog bogs, with love.
Link
<*teary eyed junta tries to thank Nanga Fakir and the ladies overpower him with kisses and all*>
<*"Yeah whatever", he says and retracts into his corner*>
SatyaVrat, if only you'd discovered it a few years ago!
Link
<*teary eyed junta tries to thank Nanga Fakir and the ladies overpower him with kisses and all*>
<*"Yeah whatever", he says and retracts into his corner*>
SatyaVrat, if only you'd discovered it a few years ago!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
His Best Yet
Sunday 8 am.
Monday 3 pm.
31 hours.
His best performance yet!
In these 31 hours, he visited strange realms of which he remembers next to nothing, shouted out "constant, constant", followed by "no...no" and met and talked to Amitabh Bachchan who'd decided to visit him in the garb of a disgruntled Thakur.
Congratulations to Nanga Fakir for bettering his previous best of 22 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
<*Clap, clap, clap*>
...
He had also participated in a science fiction story writing contest hosted by the Scientific Indian. Although his sadass story didn't win a prize, it has been featured and is due for publication.
Link
<*Yawn, yawn, yawn*>
He thanks friends who read and commented on his effort:
(in alphabetical order)
Ira, Man, Mayank, Pandu, Prabha, Ra, Shandy (who hated, hated, hated it!), Somnath, Tejo, Vatsa, Vicky.
<*Thanks, thanks, thanks*>
Monday 3 pm.
31 hours.
His best performance yet!
In these 31 hours, he visited strange realms of which he remembers next to nothing, shouted out "constant, constant", followed by "no...no" and met and talked to Amitabh Bachchan who'd decided to visit him in the garb of a disgruntled Thakur.
Congratulations to Nanga Fakir for bettering his previous best of 22 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
<*Clap, clap, clap*>
...
He had also participated in a science fiction story writing contest hosted by the Scientific Indian. Although his sadass story didn't win a prize, it has been featured and is due for publication.
Link
<*Yawn, yawn, yawn*>
He thanks friends who read and commented on his effort:
(in alphabetical order)
Ira, Man, Mayank, Pandu, Prabha, Ra, Shandy (who hated, hated, hated it!), Somnath, Tejo, Vatsa, Vicky.
<*Thanks, thanks, thanks*>
Thursday, November 06, 2008
The Lost World
Michael Crichton died yesterday.
Jurassic Park was one of the most brilliant early science fiction reads a fifteen year old could hope for. Ian Malcolm still remains one of the most memorable characters in Nanga Fakir's hall of fame. His morphine induced rants in the latter half of the aforementioned book was one of the most electrifying experiences a reader could have hoped to have.
Sigh and goodbye!
NYT's obituary.
Jurassic Park was one of the most brilliant early science fiction reads a fifteen year old could hope for. Ian Malcolm still remains one of the most memorable characters in Nanga Fakir's hall of fame. His morphine induced rants in the latter half of the aforementioned book was one of the most electrifying experiences a reader could have hoped to have.
Sigh and goodbye!
NYT's obituary.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Some Recent Additions -- Part 2
Part 1 here.
A Tale of Two Sisters (Korean): Directed by Kim ji Woon, this has got to be the best horror movie I have seen. There is hardly anything scary in the movie. No shock effects, no sudden appearances of ghosts from under the carpet and no instances of deformed, gelatinous blobs hell bent on revenge. What makes this movie a brilliant watch is an exceptionally awesome story, a spate of crazy twists crammed in the last half an hour, and an eerily executed, heartbreaking ending.
Since what attracted me first to this movie was its poster, let me post it here.
Dumplings (Cantonese): The extreme cinema movement has kept churning out one demented movie after the other, especially in the psychological horror category. Fruit Chan, in a subtly humorous vein, delivers a big bad punch on all the refined sensibilities that modern civilisation takes for granted in this brilliant movie about lust, foetuses and borderline cannibalism.
Highly, highly recommended!
Deconstructing Harry (English): Woody Allen is, and has been for quite a while, a genius - pure and sublime. Blending cerebral humour, philosophy, drama and romance in equal measure, his films have never failed to delight me.
There is all that is awesome in a Woody Allen movie in Deconstructing Harry and more. Brilliantly witty one liners (see sample below), the neurotic Woody Allen character as the famous writer Harry Block, failed romances, ensemble cast and the usual twisted humour on philosophically heavy subjects should make his legions of fans worldwide fairly satisfied.
However, what also pervades this film are open sentiments of self hatred, deep pessimism and borderline misanthropy. It is interesting to note how despite every scene being very funny, all his characters are so damn wretched. This seems easily the most dark, funny, witty and merciless indictment of the self obsessed Woody Allen by himself in any of his movies.
Sample:
Tradition is the illusion of permanence.
Sister to Harry: You have no values. Your whole life, it's nihilism, cynicism, sarcasm and orgasm.
Harry to Sister: Y'know, in France I could run on that slogan and win.
The woman murmurs wistfully about having the freedom to be together,
Man (Harry Block): Mmm, sounds great. Now open wide.
The Isle (Korean): This has got to be probably the most intensely brilliant love story I've seen. To say that it is a rather unusual and non standard romance is pointless since Kim ki Duk dons the mantle of the Director. It contains very little dialogue, progresses at a laid back pace, has scenes of breathtaking cinematographical beauty, has random acts of animal cruelty and contains some not-very-gory but awesomely gruesome scenes -- all trademark Kim ki Duk features, to be found in nearly all his films.
What is best is that despite such incongruities, the overall mood of the film remains romantic and humorous. Kim ki Duk pulls off such contradicting extremes effortlessly and makes this film a must watch.
The Purple Rose of Cairo (English): It is not without reason that this film is in "All time 100 best films" list by Time magazine. About a character in a film within a film who manages to escape to the real world during the Great Economic Depression in America, it is more a tribute to cinema than anything else. Jeff Daniels and Mia Farrow are brilliant in this funny, sad and nostalgic masterpiece by Woody Allen.
Instructions: Check out the Dev D trailer in the Featured Video, worship Anurag Kashyap five times a day and watch the movie as it comes out on 19th December '08.
A Tale of Two Sisters (Korean): Directed by Kim ji Woon, this has got to be the best horror movie I have seen. There is hardly anything scary in the movie. No shock effects, no sudden appearances of ghosts from under the carpet and no instances of deformed, gelatinous blobs hell bent on revenge. What makes this movie a brilliant watch is an exceptionally awesome story, a spate of crazy twists crammed in the last half an hour, and an eerily executed, heartbreaking ending.
Since what attracted me first to this movie was its poster, let me post it here.
Dumplings (Cantonese): The extreme cinema movement has kept churning out one demented movie after the other, especially in the psychological horror category. Fruit Chan, in a subtly humorous vein, delivers a big bad punch on all the refined sensibilities that modern civilisation takes for granted in this brilliant movie about lust, foetuses and borderline cannibalism.
Highly, highly recommended!
Deconstructing Harry (English): Woody Allen is, and has been for quite a while, a genius - pure and sublime. Blending cerebral humour, philosophy, drama and romance in equal measure, his films have never failed to delight me.
There is all that is awesome in a Woody Allen movie in Deconstructing Harry and more. Brilliantly witty one liners (see sample below), the neurotic Woody Allen character as the famous writer Harry Block, failed romances, ensemble cast and the usual twisted humour on philosophically heavy subjects should make his legions of fans worldwide fairly satisfied.
However, what also pervades this film are open sentiments of self hatred, deep pessimism and borderline misanthropy. It is interesting to note how despite every scene being very funny, all his characters are so damn wretched. This seems easily the most dark, funny, witty and merciless indictment of the self obsessed Woody Allen by himself in any of his movies.
Sample:
Tradition is the illusion of permanence.
Sister to Harry: You have no values. Your whole life, it's nihilism, cynicism, sarcasm and orgasm.
Harry to Sister: Y'know, in France I could run on that slogan and win.
The woman murmurs wistfully about having the freedom to be together,
Man (Harry Block): Mmm, sounds great. Now open wide.
The Isle (Korean): This has got to be probably the most intensely brilliant love story I've seen. To say that it is a rather unusual and non standard romance is pointless since Kim ki Duk dons the mantle of the Director. It contains very little dialogue, progresses at a laid back pace, has scenes of breathtaking cinematographical beauty, has random acts of animal cruelty and contains some not-very-gory but awesomely gruesome scenes -- all trademark Kim ki Duk features, to be found in nearly all his films.
What is best is that despite such incongruities, the overall mood of the film remains romantic and humorous. Kim ki Duk pulls off such contradicting extremes effortlessly and makes this film a must watch.
The Purple Rose of Cairo (English): It is not without reason that this film is in "All time 100 best films" list by Time magazine. About a character in a film within a film who manages to escape to the real world during the Great Economic Depression in America, it is more a tribute to cinema than anything else. Jeff Daniels and Mia Farrow are brilliant in this funny, sad and nostalgic masterpiece by Woody Allen.
Instructions: Check out the Dev D trailer in the Featured Video, worship Anurag Kashyap five times a day and watch the movie as it comes out on 19th December '08.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Some Recent Additions -- Part 1
The following are some recent additions to the My Favourite Pictures list. Nanga Fakir exhorts his friends and readers of this blog to put them on their playlists, for needless to say, he thinks each of them (without exception) is a veritable masterpiece.
This post also highlights his growing fascination with movies coming out of places like Japan, South Korea and Hong Kong and the new movement of extreme cinema.
He also wants those interested to note that the such movies are not for all people's taste and that some could find them positively repulsive and distasteful. He politely asks such people to jump out of the window and take a dip in the manhole.
Visitor Q (Japanese): Made by Takashi Miike, the Japanese director who has been described by Quentin Tarantino as the one of the greatest living film directors of our times, this film is a perverted, bizarre take on creating harmony in a remarkably mega-super-ultra-dysfunctional Japanese family. The theme is the same as that used in the comedy movie Bawarchi by the awesome Hrishikesh Mukherjee. But when processed through the psychotically crazy brain of Takashi Miike, this becomes a grotesquely brilliant black comedy. Definitely one of the most crazy mindfucking experience Nanga Fakir's had. Ever.
Vengeance Trilogy (Korean): As a standalone movie, Oldboy was crazily brilliant. But actually, it is second in what is referred to as the Vengeance Trilogy -- three absolutely brilliant cinematic pieces by the great Park Chan Wook (Sympathy For Mr Vengeance, Oldboy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance). These movies are stylistically immaculate, suffused with aesthetic violence and a subtle, dark humour that runs underneath the gory and surgically precise surface. If you want to see revenge elevated to the status of poetry, you know what to do.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (Korean): Kim ki Duk is another bête noire who is considered demented and deranged by even those among the 'elite' arthouse crowd. People routinely vomit, faint, walk out in protest etc from his movies. His movies contain minimal dialogue and scenes of breathtaking cinematographical beauty and routine animal cruelty. But for all his perceived misogynism and fascination with violence, Kim ki Duk is, above all, a supreme genius.
Spring Summer... is a break from his previous violent movies in that it is a deeply philosophical and mostly silent account of the lives of two generation of Buddhist monks in a crazily beautiful floating monastery. Exceptionally brilliant.
Happiness (English): This film does all that is thought taboo. It jokes about rape, pedophilia, death and depravity in such a way that it is impossible not to laugh out aloud. And yet, it is not a comedy but more of a dark satire, perhaps angry and amused in an equal measure. The casting is brilliant and Philip Seymour Hoffman and Dylan Baker, along with the rest of the starcast, give dazzling performances. Todd Solondz is a supremely talented Director you want to watch out for. This movie is easily one of the most brilliant I have watched ever.
Gozu (Japanese): Takashi Miike dazzles again. This movie is totally crazy, darkly comic, bizarrely outlandish and more surreal and totally out of syllabus than the works of David Lynch. Coupled with the usual outrageousness and over the top humour that Miike suffuses his films with, this would be a strange, roller coaster of a mind bending experience should you decide to see it.
This post also highlights his growing fascination with movies coming out of places like Japan, South Korea and Hong Kong and the new movement of extreme cinema.
He also wants those interested to note that the such movies are not for all people's taste and that some could find them positively repulsive and distasteful. He politely asks such people to jump out of the window and take a dip in the manhole.
Visitor Q (Japanese): Made by Takashi Miike, the Japanese director who has been described by Quentin Tarantino as the one of the greatest living film directors of our times, this film is a perverted, bizarre take on creating harmony in a remarkably mega-super-ultra-dysfunctional Japanese family. The theme is the same as that used in the comedy movie Bawarchi by the awesome Hrishikesh Mukherjee. But when processed through the psychotically crazy brain of Takashi Miike, this becomes a grotesquely brilliant black comedy. Definitely one of the most crazy mindfucking experience Nanga Fakir's had. Ever.
Vengeance Trilogy (Korean): As a standalone movie, Oldboy was crazily brilliant. But actually, it is second in what is referred to as the Vengeance Trilogy -- three absolutely brilliant cinematic pieces by the great Park Chan Wook (Sympathy For Mr Vengeance, Oldboy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance). These movies are stylistically immaculate, suffused with aesthetic violence and a subtle, dark humour that runs underneath the gory and surgically precise surface. If you want to see revenge elevated to the status of poetry, you know what to do.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (Korean): Kim ki Duk is another bête noire who is considered demented and deranged by even those among the 'elite' arthouse crowd. People routinely vomit, faint, walk out in protest etc from his movies. His movies contain minimal dialogue and scenes of breathtaking cinematographical beauty and routine animal cruelty. But for all his perceived misogynism and fascination with violence, Kim ki Duk is, above all, a supreme genius.
Spring Summer... is a break from his previous violent movies in that it is a deeply philosophical and mostly silent account of the lives of two generation of Buddhist monks in a crazily beautiful floating monastery. Exceptionally brilliant.
Happiness (English): This film does all that is thought taboo. It jokes about rape, pedophilia, death and depravity in such a way that it is impossible not to laugh out aloud. And yet, it is not a comedy but more of a dark satire, perhaps angry and amused in an equal measure. The casting is brilliant and Philip Seymour Hoffman and Dylan Baker, along with the rest of the starcast, give dazzling performances. Todd Solondz is a supremely talented Director you want to watch out for. This movie is easily one of the most brilliant I have watched ever.
Gozu (Japanese): Takashi Miike dazzles again. This movie is totally crazy, darkly comic, bizarrely outlandish and more surreal and totally out of syllabus than the works of David Lynch. Coupled with the usual outrageousness and over the top humour that Miike suffuses his films with, this would be a strange, roller coaster of a mind bending experience should you decide to see it.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
On Truth, Wikijustice and the Emergence of Digital Maoism
What does Truth mean in the age of Wikipedia? Simson Garfinkel explains in this extremely interesting article in MIT's Technology Review.
Wikipedia and the Meaning of Truth.
Wikipedia and the Meaning of Truth.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Thought for the Day
Hey hey let's go kick asses
Taisatsu na mono, protect my balls
Boku ga warui, so let's fighting
Let's fighting love,
Let's fighting love.
...
Hey hey let's go kick asses
This is important:, protect my balls
I am a badass, so let's fighting
Let's fighting love,
Let's fighting love.
For the full translated version, refer to the video.
Courtesy: The anime tribute episode Good times with Weapons of South Park.
Taisatsu na mono, protect my balls
Boku ga warui, so let's fighting
Let's fighting love,
Let's fighting love.
...
Hey hey let's go kick asses
This is important:, protect my balls
I am a badass, so let's fighting
Let's fighting love,
Let's fighting love.
For the full translated version, refer to the video.
Courtesy: The anime tribute episode Good times with Weapons of South Park.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Joker Graphic Novel
A sneak preview of the new Joker graphic novel.
Awesome eh?
Yeah Panda, you can have your orgasm now...
Awesome eh?
Yeah Panda, you can have your orgasm now...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
WTF?
A lumbering, heavy feeling weighed Ghongha down, and he dragged his feet under the weight of that fat Python of Dejection. The Korean restaurant ahead beckoned him with promises of exotic dishes, beautiful waitresses and quaint English accents. He crawled towards Seoul's Soul.
The menu was in Engrish. The names of the dishes seemed to be in Martian. And from the girls who worked there as waitresses, he could as well have been in Paradise.
“Why don't you order a live octopus and tear it off savagely? Just like Oh Daesu in Oldboy? The cute waitress will locate the obvious symbolism in the act. And then you can cast me off...Besides, it's a long time since I had an octopus.”, the fat python hissed amicably and lazily crawled inside Ghongha's shirt.
But Ghongha had long since learned not to take the Python's advice seriously. He ordered the standard full course Hanjeongsik and quietly sat down to eat. The waitress was back again to check on him.
“Do you need a fuck?”, she asked him solicitously, full of unfeigned concern.
“Boy did you get lucky!”, whispered the Python and slid underneath languorously. “Looks like it's time for me to leave you for a while”, he added as an afterthought and flashed his fangs in a wide yawn.
Ghongha looked at the girl in bafflement. She was young, perhaps younger than him, slim and beautiful. She wore a casual, loose T shirt and jeans and wore no make up. Her long, straight, somewhat unkempt hair fell over her shoulders bewitchingly. She smiled at our hero and asked again deferentially, “So...do you need one?”.
Ghongha didn't know what to say. He felt the Python's iron grip in his heart tightening even further. Words escaped him and he could not understand anything anymore.
“Relax kid. You're gonna blow this away.” (Hiss...hiss).
“Fine, I'll leave you two to enjoy. She's a sweet girl. I like her. You probably need it too.”, he chuckled wryly and relaxed his grip on Ghongha, slid down his body and began crawling on the floor of the restaurant.
A gentle, grateful smile slowly spread across Ghongha's lips and he nodded shyly to the girl. She smiled her warm, sunny smile and said in her cute accent, “I'll be back shortly”.
And came back soon enough with a spring in her step and joy in her face.
“Here you go”, she said and left again.
Ghongha eyed the fork on the table in crushed bewilderment.
“Shouldn't have left your side at all”, laughed the Python maliciously and leapt back towards Ghongha's table.
The menu was in Engrish. The names of the dishes seemed to be in Martian. And from the girls who worked there as waitresses, he could as well have been in Paradise.
“Why don't you order a live octopus and tear it off savagely? Just like Oh Daesu in Oldboy? The cute waitress will locate the obvious symbolism in the act. And then you can cast me off...Besides, it's a long time since I had an octopus.”, the fat python hissed amicably and lazily crawled inside Ghongha's shirt.
But Ghongha had long since learned not to take the Python's advice seriously. He ordered the standard full course Hanjeongsik and quietly sat down to eat. The waitress was back again to check on him.
“Do you need a fuck?”, she asked him solicitously, full of unfeigned concern.
“Boy did you get lucky!”, whispered the Python and slid underneath languorously. “Looks like it's time for me to leave you for a while”, he added as an afterthought and flashed his fangs in a wide yawn.
Ghongha looked at the girl in bafflement. She was young, perhaps younger than him, slim and beautiful. She wore a casual, loose T shirt and jeans and wore no make up. Her long, straight, somewhat unkempt hair fell over her shoulders bewitchingly. She smiled at our hero and asked again deferentially, “So...do you need one?”.
Ghongha didn't know what to say. He felt the Python's iron grip in his heart tightening even further. Words escaped him and he could not understand anything anymore.
“Relax kid. You're gonna blow this away.” (Hiss...hiss).
“Fine, I'll leave you two to enjoy. She's a sweet girl. I like her. You probably need it too.”, he chuckled wryly and relaxed his grip on Ghongha, slid down his body and began crawling on the floor of the restaurant.
A gentle, grateful smile slowly spread across Ghongha's lips and he nodded shyly to the girl. She smiled her warm, sunny smile and said in her cute accent, “I'll be back shortly”.
And came back soon enough with a spring in her step and joy in her face.
“Here you go”, she said and left again.
Ghongha eyed the fork on the table in crushed bewilderment.
“Shouldn't have left your side at all”, laughed the Python maliciously and leapt back towards Ghongha's table.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Nuggets of Wisdom -- 2
"When miserable, read Dostoyevsky".
PS: Or William Gibson. Just read Burning Chrome. Never has a painkiller acted so fast.
PS: Or William Gibson. Just read Burning Chrome. Never has a painkiller acted so fast.
Monday, October 06, 2008
On the Roots of Human Irrationality
Standard Disclaimer:
The following is supposed to be a Game Theoretic take on the causes of human irrationality. Of course, being my own views and having been heavily influenced by what I have experienced and observed, they are liable to have many inherent biases built inside them and I do not think they are very correct.
...
Although in a game, a rational player would play the strategy that is expected to increase his payoff, altruistic people might not be amenable to such analyses because of the apparent disregard that they have for their own welfare (or self interest). I'd like to point out that 'altruistic' people can be included in the realm of rationality. This can be done by considering the fact that people, for whatever reason, may change the structure of the game (or perceive differently, the structure of the game) being played by assigning different numbers in the payoff matrix than what are supposed to exist objectively. Now it is possible that due to their philosophy of what they think is correct and right (as opposed to wrong), causes them to perceive their payoff matrices as different than what is perceived by other people. In this case, they are again maximising their payoffs as is expected of rational people by putting in a higher payoff on the strategies they ultimately end up playing.
Hence on the surface at least, I do not see a reason for a dichotomy.
The causes for the different payoff structure being assigned is what is discussed next.
In my opinion, the cause stems from the fact that the game being played is not Common Knowledge. The payoff structures are hidden somewhat and although (if the game is repeated) there can exist emerging patterns in the assignment of payoffs to different strategies by players, the fact that common knowledge does not exist causes the other players in the game to rely on their inbuilt, hardwired Bayesian Inference subroutines in their brains which inherently, are heavily dependent on the players' experiential domains.
This is, in fact the reason for superstitions. People seeing black cats crossing their path, relating it to previous mishaps in their own lives infer that the blame for some putative future accident rests solely on the puny shoulders of the cat. This is classic case of correlation being mistaken for causation.
Hence being denied common knowledge and public payoff functions, the game being played transforms dramatically into that in which guessing the behaviour of the adversary becomes a far more intractable problem of mathematics. Also, the prior programming of the individual by means of education (or the lack of it), experience, genetic hardwiring etc makes him prone to assess the game in a radically different way than is usually studied in formal discourses of Game Theory.
So perhaps the more meaningful question should not be "Why are humans irrational?" but "How are humans irrational?"
The following is supposed to be a Game Theoretic take on the causes of human irrationality. Of course, being my own views and having been heavily influenced by what I have experienced and observed, they are liable to have many inherent biases built inside them and I do not think they are very correct.
...
Although in a game, a rational player would play the strategy that is expected to increase his payoff, altruistic people might not be amenable to such analyses because of the apparent disregard that they have for their own welfare (or self interest). I'd like to point out that 'altruistic' people can be included in the realm of rationality. This can be done by considering the fact that people, for whatever reason, may change the structure of the game (or perceive differently, the structure of the game) being played by assigning different numbers in the payoff matrix than what are supposed to exist objectively. Now it is possible that due to their philosophy of what they think is correct and right (as opposed to wrong), causes them to perceive their payoff matrices as different than what is perceived by other people. In this case, they are again maximising their payoffs as is expected of rational people by putting in a higher payoff on the strategies they ultimately end up playing.
Hence on the surface at least, I do not see a reason for a dichotomy.
The causes for the different payoff structure being assigned is what is discussed next.
In my opinion, the cause stems from the fact that the game being played is not Common Knowledge. The payoff structures are hidden somewhat and although (if the game is repeated) there can exist emerging patterns in the assignment of payoffs to different strategies by players, the fact that common knowledge does not exist causes the other players in the game to rely on their inbuilt, hardwired Bayesian Inference subroutines in their brains which inherently, are heavily dependent on the players' experiential domains.
This is, in fact the reason for superstitions. People seeing black cats crossing their path, relating it to previous mishaps in their own lives infer that the blame for some putative future accident rests solely on the puny shoulders of the cat. This is classic case of correlation being mistaken for causation.
Hence being denied common knowledge and public payoff functions, the game being played transforms dramatically into that in which guessing the behaviour of the adversary becomes a far more intractable problem of mathematics. Also, the prior programming of the individual by means of education (or the lack of it), experience, genetic hardwiring etc makes him prone to assess the game in a radically different way than is usually studied in formal discourses of Game Theory.
So perhaps the more meaningful question should not be "Why are humans irrational?" but "How are humans irrational?"
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Nuggets of Wisdom -- 1
Presenting the first installment of Nuggets of Wisdom Series, in which yours truly offers (rarely) original, (sometimes) clichéd, and (almost always) useless insights into the nature of things.
If you take something so seriously that you can't laugh at it yourself or tolerate irreverent jokes about it, know that something's really, really fucked up.
If you take something so seriously that you can't laugh at it yourself or tolerate irreverent jokes about it, know that something's really, really fucked up.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
उसने सोचा
मुझे पश्चात्ताप की आग झुलसा रही है. कल रात सो के उठने के बाद अचानक से जैसे ये ख़याल ज़ेहन में कौंध सा गया.
"पापी...".
जाने में या अनजाने में, सोच-विचार के या यूँ ही, कमीनियत में या भलमनसाहत में -- जैसे भी हो, पापों का घड़ा भर-सा गया मालूम होता है. प्रायश्चित्त करने का वक्त आ चुका है.
कैसे हो यह उपक्रम? और क्यूँ हो? जो होना था सो तो हो चुका. तुम्हारे ये बेकार के जुगाड़ मात्र तुम्हारे अहम् को तुष्ट करने के ज़रिये हैं. ये उतने ही मूर्खतापूर्ण हैं जितना 'खून का बदला खून'. अगर इन्तक़ाम दार्शनिक दृष्टि से ग़लत है तो प्रायश्चित्त क्यों नहीं? दोनों एक ही प्रकार की स्वार्थपरक भावना के तुष्टीकरण हेतु अस्तित्वमान हैं. ये सब पुराने ज़माने के हठ योग -- ये सब मैसोकिज्म नहीं था तो क्या था? ये सब विकृत मानसिकता नहीं थी तो क्या था?
खैर, खूब सोचा. लेकिन जैसे चाहे जितना सोचो, बदला तो लेना ही पड़ता है, वैसे अब मुझे पश्चात्ताप भी करना ही पड़ेगा. (मुस्कुरा के) साले बड़े ग्लैमरस फंडे है!
कई तरीके हैं. लेकिन सबसे असरदार तो वो होंगे जो तुम्हारे शरीर को कष्ट देने का काम करेंगे. भूख, प्यास, नींद -- इन पर हमला बोला जाए. काम के घंटे बढ़ाए जायें. मौन व्रत धारण किया जाए. इस देह की सभी आरामतलबी का नाश किया जाए. सभी मनोरंजनों को आग लगा दी जाए. क्यों क्या कहते हो?
धीरे धीरे बात टॉर्चर तक पहुँचे. हाथ पैर पर आरियाँ चलायी जायें. (कसम से, मज़ा आ जाएगा).
फिलहाल ख़ुद को भूखा रखा जाए (दिन में एक बार तो खाना बनता है मगर... नहीं?).
फिलहाल मौन व्रत रखा जाए (ज़रूरत पर तो बोलना ही पड़ेगा मगर... नहीं?).
फिलहाल काम के घंटे बढ़ाए जायें (वीकेंड्स पर तो थोड़ा आराम बनता है मगर... नहीं?).
...
एंह...तुमने खूब सोचा मगर सब बकवास. तुम सही कह रहे थे. ये सब तो ख़ुद को खुश रखने के जुगाड़ हैं. सच में पश्चात्ताप करना है तो बस दो-तीन काम काफ़ी हैं.
एकांत में हमेशा अपने पाप स्मरण करो. जिन्हें तुम्हारे कारण कष्ट हुआ है, उनसे मिलो, उनके सामने नतमस्तक हो, और सच्चे दिल से माफ़ी मांगो. बस.
(नहीं...नहीं...नहीं...कतई नहीं).
<*शीशे पे पत्थर फ़ेंक के मारता है. टूटे हुए शीशे के टुकड़े हाथ में चुभते हैं, चेहरे पे खरोंच मारते हैं. खून ही खून. हँसता है, हँसता है, खूब दिल खोल के हँसता है*>
"पापी...".
जाने में या अनजाने में, सोच-विचार के या यूँ ही, कमीनियत में या भलमनसाहत में -- जैसे भी हो, पापों का घड़ा भर-सा गया मालूम होता है. प्रायश्चित्त करने का वक्त आ चुका है.
कैसे हो यह उपक्रम? और क्यूँ हो? जो होना था सो तो हो चुका. तुम्हारे ये बेकार के जुगाड़ मात्र तुम्हारे अहम् को तुष्ट करने के ज़रिये हैं. ये उतने ही मूर्खतापूर्ण हैं जितना 'खून का बदला खून'. अगर इन्तक़ाम दार्शनिक दृष्टि से ग़लत है तो प्रायश्चित्त क्यों नहीं? दोनों एक ही प्रकार की स्वार्थपरक भावना के तुष्टीकरण हेतु अस्तित्वमान हैं. ये सब पुराने ज़माने के हठ योग -- ये सब मैसोकिज्म नहीं था तो क्या था? ये सब विकृत मानसिकता नहीं थी तो क्या था?
खैर, खूब सोचा. लेकिन जैसे चाहे जितना सोचो, बदला तो लेना ही पड़ता है, वैसे अब मुझे पश्चात्ताप भी करना ही पड़ेगा. (मुस्कुरा के) साले बड़े ग्लैमरस फंडे है!
कई तरीके हैं. लेकिन सबसे असरदार तो वो होंगे जो तुम्हारे शरीर को कष्ट देने का काम करेंगे. भूख, प्यास, नींद -- इन पर हमला बोला जाए. काम के घंटे बढ़ाए जायें. मौन व्रत धारण किया जाए. इस देह की सभी आरामतलबी का नाश किया जाए. सभी मनोरंजनों को आग लगा दी जाए. क्यों क्या कहते हो?
धीरे धीरे बात टॉर्चर तक पहुँचे. हाथ पैर पर आरियाँ चलायी जायें. (कसम से, मज़ा आ जाएगा).
फिलहाल ख़ुद को भूखा रखा जाए (दिन में एक बार तो खाना बनता है मगर... नहीं?).
फिलहाल मौन व्रत रखा जाए (ज़रूरत पर तो बोलना ही पड़ेगा मगर... नहीं?).
फिलहाल काम के घंटे बढ़ाए जायें (वीकेंड्स पर तो थोड़ा आराम बनता है मगर... नहीं?).
...
एंह...तुमने खूब सोचा मगर सब बकवास. तुम सही कह रहे थे. ये सब तो ख़ुद को खुश रखने के जुगाड़ हैं. सच में पश्चात्ताप करना है तो बस दो-तीन काम काफ़ी हैं.
एकांत में हमेशा अपने पाप स्मरण करो. जिन्हें तुम्हारे कारण कष्ट हुआ है, उनसे मिलो, उनके सामने नतमस्तक हो, और सच्चे दिल से माफ़ी मांगो. बस.
(नहीं...नहीं...नहीं...कतई नहीं).
<*शीशे पे पत्थर फ़ेंक के मारता है. टूटे हुए शीशे के टुकड़े हाथ में चुभते हैं, चेहरे पे खरोंच मारते हैं. खून ही खून. हँसता है, हँसता है, खूब दिल खोल के हँसता है*>
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The Great Gig in the Sky
Richard Wright, keyboardist and one of the founder members of Pink Floyd, died on 15th September.
Link to news on Pink Floyd's site.
Link to obit in Wired.
All my hopes of witnessing the ultimate mega-ass-kicking reunion of my favourite band are dashed to the ground.
<*Sigh*>
PS: Solzhenitsyn followed by Richard Wright. I wonder who, from my pantheon, is slated next.
<*Double Sigh*>
Link to news on Pink Floyd's site.
Link to obit in Wired.
All my hopes of witnessing the ultimate mega-ass-kicking reunion of my favourite band are dashed to the ground.
<*Sigh*>
PS: Solzhenitsyn followed by Richard Wright. I wonder who, from my pantheon, is slated next.
<*Double Sigh*>
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Another list in the Wall (Part 4)
The following is the list of my favourite books in no particular order. Only those belonging to the 'Beyond AA' category are admitted.
1) The Insulted and the Humiliated (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
2) The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
3) Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
4) Notes from the Underground (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
5) The Idiot (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
6) Anna Karenina (Lev Tolstoy)
7) The First Circle (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)
8) The Gulag Archipelago (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)
9) Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert M Pirsig)
10) Neuromancer (William Gibson)
11) The Selfish Gene (Richard Dawkins)
12) लाल टीन की छत (निर्मल वर्मा)
13) Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal, Golden Braid (Douglas R Hofstadter)
14) The Catcher in the Rye (J D Salinger)
15) 1984 (George Orwell)
16) Midnight's Children (Salman Rushdie)
17) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा (मनोहर श्याम जोशी)
18) Catch 22 (Joseph Heller)
19) चंद्रकांता/चंद्रकांता संतति (देवकीनंदन खत्री)
20) Fight Club (Chuck Palahniuk)
21) Infinite Jest (David Foster Wallace)
22) Lolita (Vladimir Nabokov)
23) 2666 (Roberto Bolaño)
24) Road to Reality (Roger Penrose)
25) Underworld (Don DeLillo)
26) The Savage Detectives (Roberto Bolaño)
1) The Insulted and the Humiliated (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
2) The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
3) Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
4) Notes from the Underground (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
5) The Idiot (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
6) Anna Karenina (Lev Tolstoy)
7) The First Circle (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)
8) The Gulag Archipelago (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)
9) Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert M Pirsig)
10) Neuromancer (William Gibson)
11) The Selfish Gene (Richard Dawkins)
12) लाल टीन की छत (निर्मल वर्मा)
13) Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal, Golden Braid (Douglas R Hofstadter)
14) The Catcher in the Rye (J D Salinger)
15) 1984 (George Orwell)
16) Midnight's Children (Salman Rushdie)
17) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा (मनोहर श्याम जोशी)
18) Catch 22 (Joseph Heller)
19) चंद्रकांता/चंद्रकांता संतति (देवकीनंदन खत्री)
20) Fight Club (Chuck Palahniuk)
21) Infinite Jest (David Foster Wallace)
22) Lolita (Vladimir Nabokov)
23) 2666 (Roberto Bolaño)
24) Road to Reality (Roger Penrose)
25) Underworld (Don DeLillo)
26) The Savage Detectives (Roberto Bolaño)
Friday, August 29, 2008
W(h)ither Now
Link to news that Virgin Comics is shutting down.
I had blogged last summer about the Indian Comic Book Revolution and how awesome the new titles -- Devi, Sadhu and Ramayan 3392 AD seemed. However, as I discovered, along with Somnath, that the later issues were done in a very non-serious and lazy way, (as if the team were pulling a night-out just before the morning of the deadline) my enthusiasm shrank. There was deterioration in every department -- sketching, inking, story, character development.
And now they're shutting down.
<*Sigh*>
Somnath, the ball is in your court now.
I had blogged last summer about the Indian Comic Book Revolution and how awesome the new titles -- Devi, Sadhu and Ramayan 3392 AD seemed. However, as I discovered, along with Somnath, that the later issues were done in a very non-serious and lazy way, (as if the team were pulling a night-out just before the morning of the deadline) my enthusiasm shrank. There was deterioration in every department -- sketching, inking, story, character development.
And now they're shutting down.
<*Sigh*>
Somnath, the ball is in your court now.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
जबसे मिली है मोहब्बत
The song's catchy and the dance steps, positively infectious. Titled "World's most pathetic dance", it has to be seen to be believed.
Courtesy: "Pyaasi Raat", the movie.
Courtesy: "Pyaasi Raat", the movie.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Doggy Style
The great Anurag Kashyap's next venture will be a superhero movie. It will star Kunal Kapoor. And here is where it gets totally awesome -- it will be based on the violent Raj comic book series Doga, which I have had the pleasure of reading as a kid and blogging as a fan.
Link to news item
I am sure Kashyap's version will kick ass. He should be able to preserve the murky origins of the superhero and do justice to the gory and violent nature of his retributions.
All hail the great man!
Link -- Doga on Wikipedia
Link to news item
I am sure Kashyap's version will kick ass. He should be able to preserve the murky origins of the superhero and do justice to the gory and violent nature of his retributions.
All hail the great man!
Link -- Doga on Wikipedia
Friday, August 08, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Confessions of an Addict: The God that Died
Warning: Long post.
<*Nanga Fakir stands on the podium looking very pensive. Lifts a glass of water and drinks up. Eyes his audience with a heavy heart*>
Nanga Fakir: In the last part, I had reached the point when the Russian Fever had arrested the then thirteen year old Nanga Fakir. Indeed, good sense demands that I continue with the story of his addiction and describe the events that followed after the The Idiot fell into the hands of our little hero. However, a recent development has made me change my mind.
<*Confused murmers from the audience*>
Nanga Fakir: I have received word that Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn died yesterday. So instead, I will talk about him today.
...
It was the vacations after high school. Nanga Fakir was in Gorakhpur with his brother who went by the name of Shashikar Bhaiya (who was every bit an addict as NF was, and perhaps more). The talk veered off to the books that the cousins were reading those days and very casually a new Russian name was slipped in by the older brother.
Little Nanga Fakir: Sol...zhe..ni...what???
Not so little Shashikar Bhaiya: Solzhenitsyn. The book is called The First Circle. You know, he's a pretty marvellous writer. Even though he is alive, his books are already considered classics.
Little Nanga Fakir: What's this book about?
Not so little Shashikar Bhaiya: Oh there is hardly any story. Its just political prisoners sitting together and talking. You know, very thought refining.
Been thus introduced to His Magisterial Awesomeness, Nanga Fakir put this book on the playlist isntantly.
Some years passed by. In the meantime, Nanga Fakir had decided to break out of his addiction and had awarded himself a voluntary exile from the Addiction Kingdom.
But then he had also befriended Somnath Pal, who (like the true Bong that he was) had access to the secret archival library of the Ramakrishna Math and who one arbit day announced that he had indeed located the Book.
<*A wry smile spreads across Nanga Fakir's face. He takes off his glasses (when the fuck did he start wearing them? Ah, the phony bastard!) and rubs his eyes unhurriedly, perhaps for dramatic effect*>
Nanga Fakir: You know a junkie never quits. He takes a break. And very soon, he had in his hands the tattered old copy of The First Circle. Within two days, he gorged this six hundred page tome and ecstatically went to his friends and sang songs about how awe-fucking-some the book was. Obviously, the friends didn't care shit about either the book or the author. They listened him out semi-patiently though and soon left baffled, the dismayed asshole who couldn't understand the tepid, don't-give-a-fuck attitude of fellow humans.
As revenge, he wished their private parts would melt away the night before the JEE exam.
Soon, the exams got over and NF decided to go book hunting with Somnath Pal and entered the famous portals of Ram Advani book depot in Hazratganj, Lucknow. Their talk about books and which one to read/buy was overheard by the old man who was in charge. Very soon, Mr Naseer was sufficiently impressed by the phony, third rate glib litgiri NF is so known for spewing out. They came out of the store with an overpriced Sons and Lovers and some books from Naseer's personal collection which included 1984, Animal Farm, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and some more.
One Day... was different from The First Circle in that it was more descriptive of the life led by zeks in Gulags.The First Circle was almost Science Fiction. Heavily philosophical, unwaveringly bleak and unapologetically dystopic, The First Circle was Russian literature at its gloomy best. And so was One Day... but the scope of the gloom was limited, for it covered only one day in the life of Ivan Denisovich.
With the aid of Somnath, soon Nanga Fakir acquired Cancer Ward and devoured it like a hungry dog. Still unsatisfied, he managed to locate the first volume of the author's most celebrated work -- The Gulag Archipelago in Blossoms, Bangalore during his third year in Surathkal.
Of all of Solzhenitsyn's books, this was the one that shook him most deeply. Heavily suffused with gallows humour, it is the most rigorous, intelligent, brilliantly researched and meticulous indictment of any historical regime ever in human history -- a task that seems impossibly great given the fact that innumerable roadblocks were cast in the path of the mathematician-turned-writer and that many a time, he was banned from using the archives (most of which were classified anyway). And this was just Volume 1! Despite his best efforts, Nanga Fakir has yet not been able to locate/read Volumes 2 and 3 of Gulag Archipelago.
Indeed he had blogged about The Gulag Archipelago (Volume 1) previously too. Those who really want to pay their tributes to the great man are advised to read the above link.
<*Overwhelmed, Nanga Fakir takes his phony glasses off. A tear (perhaps glycerine?) floats down his cheek*>
Nanga Fakir: Let's remain silent for two minutes in the memory of The God that Died yesterday.
<*Half a minute of an uncomfortable, enforced silence is broken by farts and the voices of children crying. NF becomes furious*>
Nanga Fakir: You all deserve to die assholes!
(Weak Voice): "It's you who is the asshole. You said you were going to talk about Solzhenitsyn. But you talked about yourself all the time. How YOU discovered him, how YOU liked him, how YOU became a fan, how YOU blogged about him some days ago. You miserable piece of shit, you deserve this."
<*Flings a leather boot towards the podium. Nanga Fakir sees it coming but is too lazy to move aside. The boot hits his nose and he is knocked out. Security men run to his aid and there is pandemonium in the auditorium*>
End of Part 2
Link: Solzhenitsyn dies on 3rd August 2008 (NY Times Obituary).
<*Nanga Fakir stands on the podium looking very pensive. Lifts a glass of water and drinks up. Eyes his audience with a heavy heart*>
Nanga Fakir: In the last part, I had reached the point when the Russian Fever had arrested the then thirteen year old Nanga Fakir. Indeed, good sense demands that I continue with the story of his addiction and describe the events that followed after the The Idiot fell into the hands of our little hero. However, a recent development has made me change my mind.
<*Confused murmers from the audience*>
Nanga Fakir: I have received word that Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn died yesterday. So instead, I will talk about him today.
...
It was the vacations after high school. Nanga Fakir was in Gorakhpur with his brother who went by the name of Shashikar Bhaiya (who was every bit an addict as NF was, and perhaps more). The talk veered off to the books that the cousins were reading those days and very casually a new Russian name was slipped in by the older brother.
Little Nanga Fakir: Sol...zhe..ni...what???
Not so little Shashikar Bhaiya: Solzhenitsyn. The book is called The First Circle. You know, he's a pretty marvellous writer. Even though he is alive, his books are already considered classics.
Little Nanga Fakir: What's this book about?
Not so little Shashikar Bhaiya: Oh there is hardly any story. Its just political prisoners sitting together and talking. You know, very thought refining.
Been thus introduced to His Magisterial Awesomeness, Nanga Fakir put this book on the playlist isntantly.
Some years passed by. In the meantime, Nanga Fakir had decided to break out of his addiction and had awarded himself a voluntary exile from the Addiction Kingdom.
But then he had also befriended Somnath Pal, who (like the true Bong that he was) had access to the secret archival library of the Ramakrishna Math and who one arbit day announced that he had indeed located the Book.
<*A wry smile spreads across Nanga Fakir's face. He takes off his glasses (when the fuck did he start wearing them? Ah, the phony bastard!) and rubs his eyes unhurriedly, perhaps for dramatic effect*>
Nanga Fakir: You know a junkie never quits. He takes a break. And very soon, he had in his hands the tattered old copy of The First Circle. Within two days, he gorged this six hundred page tome and ecstatically went to his friends and sang songs about how awe-fucking-some the book was. Obviously, the friends didn't care shit about either the book or the author. They listened him out semi-patiently though and soon left baffled, the dismayed asshole who couldn't understand the tepid, don't-give-a-fuck attitude of fellow humans.
As revenge, he wished their private parts would melt away the night before the JEE exam.
Soon, the exams got over and NF decided to go book hunting with Somnath Pal and entered the famous portals of Ram Advani book depot in Hazratganj, Lucknow. Their talk about books and which one to read/buy was overheard by the old man who was in charge. Very soon, Mr Naseer was sufficiently impressed by the phony, third rate glib litgiri NF is so known for spewing out. They came out of the store with an overpriced Sons and Lovers and some books from Naseer's personal collection which included 1984, Animal Farm, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and some more.
One Day... was different from The First Circle in that it was more descriptive of the life led by zeks in Gulags.The First Circle was almost Science Fiction. Heavily philosophical, unwaveringly bleak and unapologetically dystopic, The First Circle was Russian literature at its gloomy best. And so was One Day... but the scope of the gloom was limited, for it covered only one day in the life of Ivan Denisovich.
With the aid of Somnath, soon Nanga Fakir acquired Cancer Ward and devoured it like a hungry dog. Still unsatisfied, he managed to locate the first volume of the author's most celebrated work -- The Gulag Archipelago in Blossoms, Bangalore during his third year in Surathkal.
Of all of Solzhenitsyn's books, this was the one that shook him most deeply. Heavily suffused with gallows humour, it is the most rigorous, intelligent, brilliantly researched and meticulous indictment of any historical regime ever in human history -- a task that seems impossibly great given the fact that innumerable roadblocks were cast in the path of the mathematician-turned-writer and that many a time, he was banned from using the archives (most of which were classified anyway). And this was just Volume 1! Despite his best efforts, Nanga Fakir has yet not been able to locate/read Volumes 2 and 3 of Gulag Archipelago.
Indeed he had blogged about The Gulag Archipelago (Volume 1) previously too. Those who really want to pay their tributes to the great man are advised to read the above link.
<*Overwhelmed, Nanga Fakir takes his phony glasses off. A tear (perhaps glycerine?) floats down his cheek*>
Nanga Fakir: Let's remain silent for two minutes in the memory of The God that Died yesterday.
<*Half a minute of an uncomfortable, enforced silence is broken by farts and the voices of children crying. NF becomes furious*>
Nanga Fakir: You all deserve to die assholes!
(Weak Voice): "It's you who is the asshole. You said you were going to talk about Solzhenitsyn. But you talked about yourself all the time. How YOU discovered him, how YOU liked him, how YOU became a fan, how YOU blogged about him some days ago. You miserable piece of shit, you deserve this."
<*Flings a leather boot towards the podium. Nanga Fakir sees it coming but is too lazy to move aside. The boot hits his nose and he is knocked out. Security men run to his aid and there is pandemonium in the auditorium*>
End of Part 2
Link: Solzhenitsyn dies on 3rd August 2008 (NY Times Obituary).
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Confessions of an Addict: Buildup to The Russian Fever
WARNING: Long Post.
...
Nanga Fakir: Hello folks! I am Nanga Fakir.
"Hello Nanga Fakir".
Nanga Fakir: I am an addict.
(Weak voice) "Sure honey, go ahead".
Nanga Fakir: I guess it was innate. Something that I had been born with. Some affliction which seals your fate even before you're born. I have long suspected a genetic basis for many of the ailments that I suffer from -- pessimism, cynicism, depression, fondness for black humour and scatological jokes, boredom, nausea, laziness, aversion to pets etc. A new item has been added to the list. It is addiction.
<*glances nervously at the audience and smiles in confusion*>
<*the audience eyes him full of compassion, feigned perhaps*>
Nanga Fakir: This will not be an intelligent account. It will be an erratic recollection at best.
<*audience nods in encouragement*>
Nanga Fakir: Perhaps it started with comics. The cheap, sold-on-the-roadside stuff one could rent for a night. Many a day would pass while the infant NF would read about the adventures of Bankelal under the slanting rays of the sun, oblivious to all worries of the outside world.
The fascination continued. With Chandamama captivating him in its fantastic yarns of ancient empires, beautiful princesses, wicked sorcerers and powerful yogis, NF would get transported to parallel universes where he would commandeer armies and humble the most powerful by his wisdom and magic.
Then came the crucial discovery of the book that took his world by storm -- Chandrakanta. The masterful suspense, the ancient empires, the mazes and labyrinths, the tilisms, and the aiyyars made the normally quiet, introspective kid exclaim in hushed reverence -- "This is the greatest book that has ever been written."
He hunted for, and soon read the six parts of the Chandrakanta Santati series. And since the supply of comics/books dried up due to reason not remembered, he reread all the seven books of the series one after the other -- again and again and again.
His appetite grew by leaps and bounds. Reading books was all that he would do, drawn irresistibly to the yellowed pages and the smell of the moth eaten papers. He felt an almost carnal pleasure in watching the pages turn and the content reveal itself. He read without purpose, goals, plans, or ulterior motives. His addiction had begun then.
Come 8th standard and he gave his school library a not indifferent look. Lurking in the glass panelled shelves, he saw along with his friend who went by the name of Man, a collection of stories by Soviet writers. He came back promptly the next day to return the book and look for more. A book by the name of Mother caught his attention. "Ah, another Russian book!", he said to himself and got it issued.
This started what he now refers to as The Russian Fever. Very soon he had on his hands Anna Karenina which, although he did not understand in its entirety, hit him with a force that he had not thought possible.
By now, Nanga Fakir would read books simply because the cover jacket of the book would look sexy. The pubescent kid would get aroused in the wrong regions of his body due to the wrong reasons and he would not notice this till the time to remedy the situation was too far gone past.
And then it happened. During one of his rounds of the school library, he noticed a fat, white book squeezed between two fatter tomes. He decided to investigate.
The book smelled funny. It was written by a Russian guy with an unpronounceable name and the translation was by some female called Olga Shartse. The book was called "The Idiot (part one)". He decided to give it a try since the book cover was sexy, the smell was different and the writer was Russian.
He stood in line to get the book issued. The librarian looked at him wearily. She saw a frail, undersized kid holding a book that weighed heavier than him. "You're sure you want to get this issued?", she asked. "Yes ma'am", came the prompt answer. Slowly and methodically, all entries were made and signatures acquired. And at the end of it all, the book came into Nanga Fakir's possession.
End of Part 1
<*no longer nervous, Nanga Fakir ends his account with the audience clapping enthusiastically. he smiles confidently to all those present and is happy with his performance*>
(Weak Voice) "By all means, your account was fascinating and engrossing. But why do you talk in third person? At times it is irritating to hear you say 'Nanga Fakir felt this...' etc etc."
Nanga Fakir: Hey fuck you bitch!
...
Nanga Fakir: Hello folks! I am Nanga Fakir.
"Hello Nanga Fakir".
Nanga Fakir: I am an addict.
(Weak voice) "Sure honey, go ahead".
Nanga Fakir: I guess it was innate. Something that I had been born with. Some affliction which seals your fate even before you're born. I have long suspected a genetic basis for many of the ailments that I suffer from -- pessimism, cynicism, depression, fondness for black humour and scatological jokes, boredom, nausea, laziness, aversion to pets etc. A new item has been added to the list. It is addiction.
<*glances nervously at the audience and smiles in confusion*>
<*the audience eyes him full of compassion, feigned perhaps*>
Nanga Fakir: This will not be an intelligent account. It will be an erratic recollection at best.
<*audience nods in encouragement*>
Nanga Fakir: Perhaps it started with comics. The cheap, sold-on-the-roadside stuff one could rent for a night. Many a day would pass while the infant NF would read about the adventures of Bankelal under the slanting rays of the sun, oblivious to all worries of the outside world.
The fascination continued. With Chandamama captivating him in its fantastic yarns of ancient empires, beautiful princesses, wicked sorcerers and powerful yogis, NF would get transported to parallel universes where he would commandeer armies and humble the most powerful by his wisdom and magic.
Then came the crucial discovery of the book that took his world by storm -- Chandrakanta. The masterful suspense, the ancient empires, the mazes and labyrinths, the tilisms, and the aiyyars made the normally quiet, introspective kid exclaim in hushed reverence -- "This is the greatest book that has ever been written."
He hunted for, and soon read the six parts of the Chandrakanta Santati series. And since the supply of comics/books dried up due to reason not remembered, he reread all the seven books of the series one after the other -- again and again and again.
His appetite grew by leaps and bounds. Reading books was all that he would do, drawn irresistibly to the yellowed pages and the smell of the moth eaten papers. He felt an almost carnal pleasure in watching the pages turn and the content reveal itself. He read without purpose, goals, plans, or ulterior motives. His addiction had begun then.
Come 8th standard and he gave his school library a not indifferent look. Lurking in the glass panelled shelves, he saw along with his friend who went by the name of Man, a collection of stories by Soviet writers. He came back promptly the next day to return the book and look for more. A book by the name of Mother caught his attention. "Ah, another Russian book!", he said to himself and got it issued.
This started what he now refers to as The Russian Fever. Very soon he had on his hands Anna Karenina which, although he did not understand in its entirety, hit him with a force that he had not thought possible.
By now, Nanga Fakir would read books simply because the cover jacket of the book would look sexy. The pubescent kid would get aroused in the wrong regions of his body due to the wrong reasons and he would not notice this till the time to remedy the situation was too far gone past.
And then it happened. During one of his rounds of the school library, he noticed a fat, white book squeezed between two fatter tomes. He decided to investigate.
The book smelled funny. It was written by a Russian guy with an unpronounceable name and the translation was by some female called Olga Shartse. The book was called "The Idiot (part one)". He decided to give it a try since the book cover was sexy, the smell was different and the writer was Russian.
He stood in line to get the book issued. The librarian looked at him wearily. She saw a frail, undersized kid holding a book that weighed heavier than him. "You're sure you want to get this issued?", she asked. "Yes ma'am", came the prompt answer. Slowly and methodically, all entries were made and signatures acquired. And at the end of it all, the book came into Nanga Fakir's possession.
End of Part 1
<*no longer nervous, Nanga Fakir ends his account with the audience clapping enthusiastically. he smiles confidently to all those present and is happy with his performance*>
(Weak Voice) "By all means, your account was fascinating and engrossing. But why do you talk in third person? At times it is irritating to hear you say 'Nanga Fakir felt this...' etc etc."
Nanga Fakir: Hey fuck you bitch!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Why so Serious?
Sonu and I caught up with the premiere show of The Dark Knight at the East End Mall today. First day, first show, first to be seated in the hall. And what a dazzling two and a half hour blast!
Go see it...now.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Fag End
Finished a couple of more books -- Survivor and Diary (both by Chuck Palahniuk). Survivor is awesome; very nearly as good as Fight Club, while Diary is the weakest of the four books the writer's written despite it having one of the most awesome first five pages of a fiction book I have had a chance of reading.
Currently on the book playlist are The Extended Phenotype and Godel, Escher, Bach both of which will probably keep me occupied for a long time to come.
Currently on the book playlist are The Extended Phenotype and Godel, Escher, Bach both of which will probably keep me occupied for a long time to come.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Books read in the Summers
1) The Three Mistakes of My Life -- Chetan Bhagat
Bad literature. Written in the same spirit as I used to write my engineering assignments.
2) Choke -- Chuck Palahniuk
Nice. Caustic, bitter, funny. Typical bone dry prose. But not even close to Fight Club.
3) Netochka Nezvanova -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Netochka Nezvanova is a female name meaning "Nameless Nobody" (sort of an Indian analogue of "Anamika"). This one's an incomplete book that Dostoyevsky attempted to write before he was sent off to Siberia. Hardly his best, but you get to see his obsessions developing post-infancy.
4) Kari -- Amruta Patil
This one was finished sitting in Andheri's Landmark in an hour or so. The female in question is an Indian who's written this story set in Mumbai about a lesbian female called Kari. Pretty good for a debut, this graphic novel is recommended to anybody who has a spare hour in a bookshop.
5) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा -- मनोहर श्याम जोशी
Mercilessly self-deprecatory, savagely funny, remorselessly irreverent, bitterly scathing, unapologetically cynical and employing a remarkably brilliant experimentation in narrative structure, this book was easily one of the greatest I've read in a long time.
What attracted me from the very outset was the blurb description of the author ("...laziness and self doubt have always prevented him from publishing his works"). Although the cult status of this book was never in question, whether or not I will join the cult was the question which has since been resolved most emphatically.
Although highly recommended, non native Hindi readers will encounter huge difficulties with the book on account of its heavy use of Hindi slang interspersed with a good dose of highbrow litgiri.
What a book!!!
6) The Argumentative Indian -- Amartya Sen
Excellent work by one of the best in the business. Highly recommended to anyone even remotely interested in modern India/Indian history.
7) मेरी प्रिय कहानियां -- अज्ञेय
Finished during the long 19 hour nothingness that goes by the name of a Waiting Room in Jhansi. Not great. Agyeya was a far better novelist and poet than a short story writer.
8) उमरावनगर में कुछ दिन -- श्रीलाल शुक्ला
Three stories written in the same spirit as his masterpiece Raag Darbari. Satire and caustic wit to Shrilal Shukla is what hollering and random enemy slaying is to Sunny Deol.
Next on the playlist are:
A) Survivor -- Chuck Palahniuk
B) Stand on Zanzibar -- John Brunner
C) Diary -- Chuck Palahniuk.
Bad literature. Written in the same spirit as I used to write my engineering assignments.
2) Choke -- Chuck Palahniuk
Nice. Caustic, bitter, funny. Typical bone dry prose. But not even close to Fight Club.
3) Netochka Nezvanova -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Netochka Nezvanova is a female name meaning "Nameless Nobody" (sort of an Indian analogue of "Anamika"). This one's an incomplete book that Dostoyevsky attempted to write before he was sent off to Siberia. Hardly his best, but you get to see his obsessions developing post-infancy.
4) Kari -- Amruta Patil
This one was finished sitting in Andheri's Landmark in an hour or so. The female in question is an Indian who's written this story set in Mumbai about a lesbian female called Kari. Pretty good for a debut, this graphic novel is recommended to anybody who has a spare hour in a bookshop.
5) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा -- मनोहर श्याम जोशी
Mercilessly self-deprecatory, savagely funny, remorselessly irreverent, bitterly scathing, unapologetically cynical and employing a remarkably brilliant experimentation in narrative structure, this book was easily one of the greatest I've read in a long time.
What attracted me from the very outset was the blurb description of the author ("...laziness and self doubt have always prevented him from publishing his works"). Although the cult status of this book was never in question, whether or not I will join the cult was the question which has since been resolved most emphatically.
Although highly recommended, non native Hindi readers will encounter huge difficulties with the book on account of its heavy use of Hindi slang interspersed with a good dose of highbrow litgiri.
What a book!!!
6) The Argumentative Indian -- Amartya Sen
Excellent work by one of the best in the business. Highly recommended to anyone even remotely interested in modern India/Indian history.
7) मेरी प्रिय कहानियां -- अज्ञेय
Finished during the long 19 hour nothingness that goes by the name of a Waiting Room in Jhansi. Not great. Agyeya was a far better novelist and poet than a short story writer.
8) उमरावनगर में कुछ दिन -- श्रीलाल शुक्ला
Three stories written in the same spirit as his masterpiece Raag Darbari. Satire and caustic wit to Shrilal Shukla is what hollering and random enemy slaying is to Sunny Deol.
Next on the playlist are:
A) Survivor -- Chuck Palahniuk
B) Stand on Zanzibar -- John Brunner
C) Diary -- Chuck Palahniuk.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
More books
Some more books've been bought during my trip to Mumbai-Bangalore. Two of them from Somnath on account of his having lost a couple of bets some time ago and one gifted by my sister in Mumbai. They are:
1) Godel, Escher Bach : an Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hofstadter (courtesy Somnath),
2) Survivor by Chuck Palanhiuk (courtesy Somnath)
3) The Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen (courtesy Didi).
Currently I'm having an nice time here in Bangalore meeting up old friends and seeing their shocked expressions (they had assumed I'd died a while ago).
Seems like an awesome summer...
1) Godel, Escher Bach : an Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hofstadter (courtesy Somnath),
2) Survivor by Chuck Palanhiuk (courtesy Somnath)
3) The Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen (courtesy Didi).
Currently I'm having an nice time here in Bangalore meeting up old friends and seeing their shocked expressions (they had assumed I'd died a while ago).
Seems like an awesome summer...
Monday, June 16, 2008
Latest
Having nothing to do at home forced me into reading The three mistakes of my life -- the latest offering by Chetan Bhagat. I proceeded to correct the situation the very next day and bought shitloads of books to help me pass time. I also made Sheri and Sonu buy those books which I have had in mind to read but were getting too expensive for my shoestring budget. The list is the following:
1) Choke -- Chuck Palahniuk
2) The Idiot -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
3) Netochka Nezvanova -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
4) मेरी प्रिय कहानियाँ -- अज्ञेय
5) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा... -- मनोहर श्याम जोशी
The Idiot because my collection of Dostoyevsky lacked this. Netochka Nezvanova because Dostoyevsky pulled a fast one on me and I found that there exists a fiction book he wrote that I had not read (yet again!).
I made Sonu buy The Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner and Sheri bought American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Diary by Chuck Palahniuk.
Finally, seems like an interesting summer.
1) Choke -- Chuck Palahniuk
2) The Idiot -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
3) Netochka Nezvanova -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
4) मेरी प्रिय कहानियाँ -- अज्ञेय
5) कुरु कुरु स्वाहा... -- मनोहर श्याम जोशी
The Idiot because my collection of Dostoyevsky lacked this. Netochka Nezvanova because Dostoyevsky pulled a fast one on me and I found that there exists a fiction book he wrote that I had not read (yet again!).
I made Sonu buy The Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner and Sheri bought American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Diary by Chuck Palahniuk.
Finally, seems like an interesting summer.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Saturday, June 07, 2008
This post has no title
Among the first things I am going to do in Lucknow is watch Sarkaar Raj. This will be followed shortly by viewings of Aamir, Speed Racer and Hellboy II: The Golden Army.
Sarkar Raj, because obviously it's a RGV film; Aamir because it is made by Rajkumar Gupta -- a protegé of Anurag Kashyap (he is the producer of this film); Speed Racer because it is written and directed by the Wachowski Brothers and is based on a cartoon series I used to follow on Cartoon Network a long time ago, and Hellboy II because it is made by the awesome Guillermo del Toro - the man who made El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan's Labyrinth).
Sarkar Raj, because obviously it's a RGV film; Aamir because it is made by Rajkumar Gupta -- a protegé of Anurag Kashyap (he is the producer of this film); Speed Racer because it is written and directed by the Wachowski Brothers and is based on a cartoon series I used to follow on Cartoon Network a long time ago, and Hellboy II because it is made by the awesome Guillermo del Toro - the man who made El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan's Labyrinth).
Monday, June 02, 2008
Life Cycle of a Household Insect
(Read from Top to Bottom)
1)
Sleep ---->
Dreams ---->
Goals ---->
Plans ---->
Fight ---->
Failure/Give-Up ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Sleep.
2)
Sleep ---->
No-Dream ---->
Boredom ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Sleep.
1)
Sleep ---->
Dreams ---->
Goals ---->
Plans ---->
Fight ---->
Failure/Give-Up ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Sleep.
2)
Sleep ---->
No-Dream ---->
Boredom ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Philosophy ---->
Depression ---->
Sleep.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
GB beckons...
My obsessive Wikipedia browsing, every now and then, yields many a gem of an entry. This one's about Old Monk. I'll quote the entire thing for the benefit of posterity lest some vandal should make his mind to destroy the same.
Link
Old Monk is a vatted Indian Rum, blended and aged for 7 years (though there is also more expensive, 12 year old version). It is dark, with an alcohol content of 42.8%. It is produced by Mohan Meakin, based in Mohan Nagar, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh.
It is one of the most favoured flavours of rum not only in India, but across the world.
It is drunk by the best among the connoisseurs of alcohol in India(data from various sources). It is supposed to be the brand of rum suited for all seasons.
The logo of 'Old Monk' reminds its customers of the all encompassing smile of a quintessential drunkard who knows where the others are headed for.
It is available in all parts of India.
It is sold in four size variants 180ml (quarter), 350ml (half), 750ml (commonly referred to as a "full bottle"), and a 1 liter bottle.
Link
आगाज़
लोग अक्सर उस से पूछा करते थे कि "विजय ही क्यूं? नाम तो और भी कई हो सकते थे?" वो मुस्कुरा भर देता था और कोई घटिया सा बहाना बना के पीछा छुड़ा लिया करता था. ट्रेड सीक्रेट यूँ ही सभी को नहीं बता दिया जाता.
...
वेनेशियन ब्लाइंड्स से छनती हुई कमज़ोर, तिरछी, पीली धूप की किरणें हमारे हीरो के चेहरे पर पड़ रही थीं. उसके हाथ में अपने पसंदीदा राइटर कि लेटेस्ट किताब थी जो कल ही उसने खरीदी थी. पर इस समय उसका ध्यान किताब और उसके पेचीदा प्लॉट पर नहीं था. वो तो किसी और ही उधेढ़-बुन में लगा था.
"मैंने बहुत दुनिया देखी है", ऐसा वो अक्सर कहा करता था, और मेरी मानिये तो कुछ ग़लत नहीं कहता था. उन तमाम सवालों के जवाब, जिन्हें फिलोसफर सोचते सोचते ख़ाक हो गए, हमारे नायक के पास मौजूद थे. अपने काम के सिलसिले में उसने आदमी और उसके स्वभाव के बारे में जिस गहराई से सोचा था, वो फिलोसफरों की पहुँच के बाहर था. जिन परिस्थितियों में उसने आदमियों पर अपने सिद्धांतों की जांच की थी, वो वैज्ञानिकों के परे था.
दरवाज़े के स्पीकर से निकली आवाज़ ने उसकी सोच में विघ्न डाला. "कम इन", उसके मुंह से निकला, और दरवाज़ा खुल गया.
कमरे में एक लड़की खड़ी थी जो बड़े गौर से अपने सामने बैठे आदमी की ओर देख रही थी...
एक पल के लिए उस आदमी की आँखों में चमक आई और एक तिरछी सी मुस्कान उसके चेहरे पर फ़ैल गई. उसने अलसाये हुए तरीके से अपनी कुर्सी लड़की की तरफ़ घुमाई और बैठे बैठे अपना हाथ उसकी तरफ़ बढाते हुए बोला, "कौल मी विजय...जासूस विजय."
...
वेनेशियन ब्लाइंड्स से छनती हुई कमज़ोर, तिरछी, पीली धूप की किरणें हमारे हीरो के चेहरे पर पड़ रही थीं. उसके हाथ में अपने पसंदीदा राइटर कि लेटेस्ट किताब थी जो कल ही उसने खरीदी थी. पर इस समय उसका ध्यान किताब और उसके पेचीदा प्लॉट पर नहीं था. वो तो किसी और ही उधेढ़-बुन में लगा था.
"मैंने बहुत दुनिया देखी है", ऐसा वो अक्सर कहा करता था, और मेरी मानिये तो कुछ ग़लत नहीं कहता था. उन तमाम सवालों के जवाब, जिन्हें फिलोसफर सोचते सोचते ख़ाक हो गए, हमारे नायक के पास मौजूद थे. अपने काम के सिलसिले में उसने आदमी और उसके स्वभाव के बारे में जिस गहराई से सोचा था, वो फिलोसफरों की पहुँच के बाहर था. जिन परिस्थितियों में उसने आदमियों पर अपने सिद्धांतों की जांच की थी, वो वैज्ञानिकों के परे था.
दरवाज़े के स्पीकर से निकली आवाज़ ने उसकी सोच में विघ्न डाला. "कम इन", उसके मुंह से निकला, और दरवाज़ा खुल गया.
कमरे में एक लड़की खड़ी थी जो बड़े गौर से अपने सामने बैठे आदमी की ओर देख रही थी...
एक पल के लिए उस आदमी की आँखों में चमक आई और एक तिरछी सी मुस्कान उसके चेहरे पर फ़ैल गई. उसने अलसाये हुए तरीके से अपनी कुर्सी लड़की की तरफ़ घुमाई और बैठे बैठे अपना हाथ उसकी तरफ़ बढाते हुए बोला, "कौल मी विजय...जासूस विजय."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Project Pulp Fiction
During the course of commenting on my last post titled "One, Two, Three Mike Testing", my sister pointed out how good a natural (photo?)copier I was and how the post reminded her of Nirmal Verma's writing style. While flattered, I vehemently deny this particular observation while agreeing with the overall allegation of being a shameless imitator. SatyaVrat was also quick to remark how hard the post sucked and how ignorant I was in making the errors that he alleged I did make.
The last post was meant to be a guinea pig. That it turned out more pig than guinea was just the way the world works. That guinea pigs are not pigs and have no connection to The Republic of Guinea is also just the way the world works.
But very consciously, I had started out to recreate (in Hindi) the broke-cynical-Raskolnikov that Dostoyevsky had described in his Crime and Punishment and given him Holden Caulfield's voice. Set this guy up in a dystopic SF in a future Lucknow engulfed by smog and snow, add a touch of black humour of the kind found in the pages of The Gulag Archipelago and I would've given myself the biggest self inflicted orgasm theoretically possible.
This is all imitation and I would want it to be a homage to the great masters (mostly Russian and Hindi) that I have had the pleasure of reading. However, Nirmal Verma will never figure in this list of people whom I give 'tribute' to (read imitate), simply because I think that writing the way he did is beyond even a super-enhanced-mega-ass-kicking-Cyborg Nanga Fakir high on drugs.
More achievable is the Raskolnikov-Holden Caulfield meets Neuromancer project I outlined above but that is also ultra non trivial and so the chances are that I will never attempt it.
I remember Sahil (henceforth referred to as Chief), making fun of the legendary Donny Alex (did I get the spelling right?) for harbouring literary aspirations. Donny had become a sort of a common inside joke we Wagoners kept coming back to -- both in our conversations and in the NewsWagon issues we came out with. We did this not because we hated people who harbour literary ambitions (indeed, we were all philosopher-writers ourselves and had women swooning all over us in a parallel universe), but because all of us, down to the last man felt, in a really deep way, how such posturing tries to trivialise something that is so fundamentally non trivial. This was one of our reasons for being skeptical of lit wannabes. For some of us, this skepticism manifested as hatred and disgust for lit imposters. But that, however, is a different story altogether.
What however I can do well is writing pulp fiction in Hindi (if it turns out that I suck at that too, then I will probably remain mentally scarred for the rest of my life) of the kind sold at bus stations and train stations featuring stories where world weary film noirish detectives save the day and end up fucking a lot of hot chicks. I even have a name for my hero -- Jasoos Vijay who introduces himself as "My name is Vijay...Jasoos Vijay". Who knows, perhaps Ghongha Basant will make a surprise entry in the Jasoos Vijay universe.
However, much to Subbu's disappointment, the series will be in Hindi and will be sold on train stations in the Hindi speaking heartlands of India. I will have huge fan following in places like Ajamgadh, Basti, Gonda, Devaria and the planet Tau Tau where I will be awarded the Order of Tau Tau Empire First Class.
God don't let me suck at this thing...please!
The last post was meant to be a guinea pig. That it turned out more pig than guinea was just the way the world works. That guinea pigs are not pigs and have no connection to The Republic of Guinea is also just the way the world works.
But very consciously, I had started out to recreate (in Hindi) the broke-cynical-Raskolnikov that Dostoyevsky had described in his Crime and Punishment and given him Holden Caulfield's voice. Set this guy up in a dystopic SF in a future Lucknow engulfed by smog and snow, add a touch of black humour of the kind found in the pages of The Gulag Archipelago and I would've given myself the biggest self inflicted orgasm theoretically possible.
This is all imitation and I would want it to be a homage to the great masters (mostly Russian and Hindi) that I have had the pleasure of reading. However, Nirmal Verma will never figure in this list of people whom I give 'tribute' to (read imitate), simply because I think that writing the way he did is beyond even a super-enhanced-mega-ass-kicking-Cyborg Nanga Fakir high on drugs.
More achievable is the Raskolnikov-Holden Caulfield meets Neuromancer project I outlined above but that is also ultra non trivial and so the chances are that I will never attempt it.
I remember Sahil (henceforth referred to as Chief), making fun of the legendary Donny Alex (did I get the spelling right?) for harbouring literary aspirations. Donny had become a sort of a common inside joke we Wagoners kept coming back to -- both in our conversations and in the NewsWagon issues we came out with. We did this not because we hated people who harbour literary ambitions (indeed, we were all philosopher-writers ourselves and had women swooning all over us in a parallel universe), but because all of us, down to the last man felt, in a really deep way, how such posturing tries to trivialise something that is so fundamentally non trivial. This was one of our reasons for being skeptical of lit wannabes. For some of us, this skepticism manifested as hatred and disgust for lit imposters. But that, however, is a different story altogether.
What however I can do well is writing pulp fiction in Hindi (if it turns out that I suck at that too, then I will probably remain mentally scarred for the rest of my life) of the kind sold at bus stations and train stations featuring stories where world weary film noirish detectives save the day and end up fucking a lot of hot chicks. I even have a name for my hero -- Jasoos Vijay who introduces himself as "My name is Vijay...Jasoos Vijay". Who knows, perhaps Ghongha Basant will make a surprise entry in the Jasoos Vijay universe.
However, much to Subbu's disappointment, the series will be in Hindi and will be sold on train stations in the Hindi speaking heartlands of India. I will have huge fan following in places like Ajamgadh, Basti, Gonda, Devaria and the planet Tau Tau where I will be awarded the Order of Tau Tau Empire First Class.
God don't let me suck at this thing...please!
Monday, May 12, 2008
वन टू थ्री माइक टेस्टिंग
( एक सवाल जो पूछा जा सकता है, वो यह है कि ये जो मैं लिख रहा हूँ, सो क्यों लिख रहा हूँ? तो अच्छा सवाल है, पर जवाब नहीं मिलेगा -- कम से कम फिलहाल नहीं. )
कुछ दिन पहले तक मैं यूनिवर्सिटी में पढ़ा करता था. पढ़ा क्या करता था, यूं कहिये कि पढ़ने कि कोशिश किया करता था. खैर...फेल हो गया, निकाल दिया गया. एक किस्सा था, सो ख़त्म हुआ.
...
बाहर बर्फ गिर रही है. ठंड ऐसी कि पूछिये मत और आखरी वजीफा था, वो किराये में चुक गया.
नहाये हुए अरसा हो गया, दाढ़ी बढ़ गई है, शरीर से बदबू आ रही है और न जाने क्या क्या? लेकिन ये सब फिलहाल मेरे दिमाग में नहीं हैं. लिख तो बस इसलिए दे रहा हूँ कि किताबें जो लिखी जाती हैं उनमे यह सब लिखो, तो क्रिटिक जन तारीफ करते हैं, कहते हैं "बड़ी रिअलिस्टिक कहानी है. लौंडे में दम है". और जब हम ठान ही चुके हैं कि इस साल कि बेस्ट कहानी हम लिखेंगे, तो लाज़मी है कि क्रिटिक्स को खुश रखा जाए.
तो जैसा कि मैं कह रहा था, यह सब मेरे दिमाग में नहीं चल रहा है......तो फिर क्या चल रहा है? तो जनाब अधीर न हों, बताते हैं...
मधूलिका आई थी आज यहाँ. उसे देखे हुए काफी वक्त हो चला था. मुझे मालूम होता कि वो आने वाली है तो चुप्पे से सटक लिया होता मैं.
कुछ पैसे दे गई मुझे...कह रही थी कि रूम का किराया चुका दूँ पुराना. (मेरी मकान मालकिन मेरे बारे में चुगली करती है! छोडूँगा नहीं साली को. वैसे ही कुछ कम बेइज्ज़ती हुई है मेरी जो अब औरों से पैसे मांगता फिरूं?) वैसे बड़े दिनों बाद कुछ अच्छा खाने को नसीब हुआ. हाल इतने खस्ता चल रहे हैं कि मना करने की हिम्मत भी नहीं हुई और मुझे ऐसे भूखों की तरह खाता हुआ देख के वो रोने लगी, सो अलग. मुझे ज़रा भी अच्छा नहीं लगा. लेकिन मैंने नाटक किया कि मैंने नोटिस नहीं किया और खाता रहा. कसम से, मालूम होता मधु आएगी तो सटक लिया होता मैं...
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Test successful...
Begin blogging in Hindi...
End.
कुछ दिन पहले तक मैं यूनिवर्सिटी में पढ़ा करता था. पढ़ा क्या करता था, यूं कहिये कि पढ़ने कि कोशिश किया करता था. खैर...फेल हो गया, निकाल दिया गया. एक किस्सा था, सो ख़त्म हुआ.
...
बाहर बर्फ गिर रही है. ठंड ऐसी कि पूछिये मत और आखरी वजीफा था, वो किराये में चुक गया.
नहाये हुए अरसा हो गया, दाढ़ी बढ़ गई है, शरीर से बदबू आ रही है और न जाने क्या क्या? लेकिन ये सब फिलहाल मेरे दिमाग में नहीं हैं. लिख तो बस इसलिए दे रहा हूँ कि किताबें जो लिखी जाती हैं उनमे यह सब लिखो, तो क्रिटिक जन तारीफ करते हैं, कहते हैं "बड़ी रिअलिस्टिक कहानी है. लौंडे में दम है". और जब हम ठान ही चुके हैं कि इस साल कि बेस्ट कहानी हम लिखेंगे, तो लाज़मी है कि क्रिटिक्स को खुश रखा जाए.
तो जैसा कि मैं कह रहा था, यह सब मेरे दिमाग में नहीं चल रहा है......तो फिर क्या चल रहा है? तो जनाब अधीर न हों, बताते हैं...
मधूलिका आई थी आज यहाँ. उसे देखे हुए काफी वक्त हो चला था. मुझे मालूम होता कि वो आने वाली है तो चुप्पे से सटक लिया होता मैं.
कुछ पैसे दे गई मुझे...कह रही थी कि रूम का किराया चुका दूँ पुराना. (मेरी मकान मालकिन मेरे बारे में चुगली करती है! छोडूँगा नहीं साली को. वैसे ही कुछ कम बेइज्ज़ती हुई है मेरी जो अब औरों से पैसे मांगता फिरूं?) वैसे बड़े दिनों बाद कुछ अच्छा खाने को नसीब हुआ. हाल इतने खस्ता चल रहे हैं कि मना करने की हिम्मत भी नहीं हुई और मुझे ऐसे भूखों की तरह खाता हुआ देख के वो रोने लगी, सो अलग. मुझे ज़रा भी अच्छा नहीं लगा. लेकिन मैंने नाटक किया कि मैंने नोटिस नहीं किया और खाता रहा. कसम से, मालूम होता मधु आएगी तो सटक लिया होता मैं...
...
Test successful...
Begin blogging in Hindi...
End.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Oh Me!
I was discussing with my brother, the possible names for my niece who's about to be born (the expected date of birth coincides with mine!). The talk was focussed on the home name and it was suggested by my brother that the home name be Omee.
Nanga Fakir: (after some thinking) That would be so goddamn awesome!
Brother: (slightly puzzled) I know its a good name...but awesome? Why?
Nanga Fakir: Well for one, Ajay Devgan, in the movie Omkara was referred to as Omee Bhaiyya by his followers.
Brother: Ha ha...I see your point.
Nanga Fakir: That's hardly all of it. In the iconic MTV Unplugged Live in New York, just before it all ended, Nirvana played the best song of the album called Oh Me, a homophone of the name Omee. This name will be our humble tribute to the memory of Kurt Cobain!
Brother: Whoa...dude.
...
The omens couldn't be better. A child born on the same day as me and a name which pays tribute to Omkara and Kurt Cobain! Niece...let the spirit of Grunge be with you!
PS: I know the original was by the Meat Puppets and Nirvana did a cover. But that doesn't make the song any less awesome!
Nanga Fakir: (after some thinking) That would be so goddamn awesome!
Brother: (slightly puzzled) I know its a good name...but awesome? Why?
Nanga Fakir: Well for one, Ajay Devgan, in the movie Omkara was referred to as Omee Bhaiyya by his followers.
Brother: Ha ha...I see your point.
Nanga Fakir: That's hardly all of it. In the iconic MTV Unplugged Live in New York, just before it all ended, Nirvana played the best song of the album called Oh Me, a homophone of the name Omee. This name will be our humble tribute to the memory of Kurt Cobain!
Brother: Whoa...dude.
...
The omens couldn't be better. A child born on the same day as me and a name which pays tribute to Omkara and Kurt Cobain! Niece...let the spirit of Grunge be with you!
PS: I know the original was by the Meat Puppets and Nirvana did a cover. But that doesn't make the song any less awesome!
Saturday, May 03, 2008
My Favourite Pictures
Beyond AA
1) Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron (Kundan Shah)
2) Anand (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
3) Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
4) Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont)
5) Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis)
6) Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky)
7) Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant)
8) Memento (Christopher Nolan)
9) Boys Don’t Cry (Kimberley Peirce)
10) Schindler’s List (Steven Spielberg)
11) Waking Life (Richard Linklater)
12) Cidade de Deus (Fernando Mereilles)
13) Trois Colouers Rouge (Kriestof Kizelowsky)
14) Fight Club (David Fincher)
15) No Smoking (Anurag Kashyap)
16) Visitor Q (Takashi Miike)
17) 3-Iron (Kim ki Duk)
18) Stalker (Andrei Tarkovsky)
19) 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick)
20) Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino)
21) 2046 (Wang kar Wai)
22) Dil Se (Mani Ratnam)
23) Siddheshwari (Mani Kaul)
24) Kramashah (Amit Dutta)
25) Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer)
26) Court (Chaitanya Tamhane)
27) Whiplash ()
Also
1) Pyasa (Guru Dutt)
2) Satya (Ram Gopal Varma)
3) The Others (Alejandro Amenábar)
4) Golmaal (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
5) Dil Chahta Hai (Farhan Akhtar)
6) The Pianist (Roman Polanski)
7) Gandhi (Richard Attenborough)
8) As Good As it Gets (James L Brooks)
9) Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg)
10) Platoon (Oliver Stone)
11) Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino)
12) Muhafiz (Ismail Merchant)
13) Salaam Bombay (Meera Nayar)
14) Maqbool (Vishal Bharadwaj)
15) Andaaz Apna Apna (Rajkumar Santoshi)
16) Guide (Vijay Anand)
17) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
18) Dead Poet's Society (Peter Weir)
19) Life is Beautiful (Roberto Benigni)
20) Philadelphia (Jonathan Demme)
21) The Maltese Falcon (John Huston)
22) Matrix Trilogy (Wachowsky Brothers)
23) Black (Sanjay Leela Bhansali)
24) The Machinist (Brad Anderson)
25) Anaadi (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
26) Persona (Ingmar Bergman)
27) Omkara (Vishal Bharadwaj)
28) Black Friday (Anurag Kashyap)
29) Sholay (Ramesh Sippy)
30) Lagaan (Ashutosh Gowarikar)
31) 8 1/2 (Federico Fellini)
32) Apu Trilogy (Satyajit Ray)
33) Network (Sidney Lumet)
34) Monsoon Wedding (Mira Nair)
35) The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
36) Ed Wood (Tim Burton)
37) Amores Perros (Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu)
38) Kung Fu Hustle (Stephen Chow)
39) Cinema Paradiso (Giuseppe Tornatore)
40) The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (Peter Jackson)
41) The Blairwitch Project (Daniel Myrick & Eduardo Sánchez)
42) Shutter (Banjong Pisanthanakun & Parkpoom Wongpoom)
43) El Laberinto del Fauno (Guillermo del Toro)
44) Vengeance Trilogy (Park Chan-wook)
45) Annie Hall (Woody Allen)
46) La Haine (Mathieu Kassovitz)
47) Chinatown (Roman Polanski)
48) Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
49) September (Woody Allen)
50) A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan)
51) Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson)
52) Stardust Memories (Woody Allen)
53) Unbreakable (Manoj Night Shyamalan)
54) Cloverfield (Matt Reeves)
55) The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
56) Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring (Kim Ki-duk)
57) Half Ticket (Kalidas)
58) Happiness (Todd Solondz)
59) Gozu (Takashi Miike)
60) A Tale of Two Sisters (Kim ji Woon)
61) Dumplings (Fruit Chan)
62) Chasing Amy (Kevin Smith)
63) Khosla ka Ghosla (Dibakar Bannerjee)
64) Grindhouse (Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino)
65) Deconstructing Harry (Woody Allen)
66) Adaptation (Spike Jonze)
67) The Purple Rose of Cairo (Woody Allen)
68) The Isle (Kim ki Duk)
69) Bad Guy (Kim ki Duk)
70) In the Mood for Love (Wong kar Wai)
71) Sin City (Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller)
72) Palindromes (Todd Solondz)
73) Revolutionary Road (Sam Mendes)
74) Oasis (Lee Chang-Dong)
75) Achilles and the Tortoise (Takeshi Kitano)
76) Man Bites Dog (Rémy Belvaux)
77) Chhoti si Baat (Basu Chatterjee)
78) Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
79) Head On (Fatih Akin)
80) Taxidermia (György Pálfi)
81) Hunger (Steve McQueen)
82) Dogville (Lars von Trier)
83) Zelig (Woody Allen)
84) The Aviator (Martin Scorcese)
85) The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks)
86) Pinjar (Chandraprakash Dwivedi)
87) 4 (Ilya Khrzhanovsky)
PS: The list is heavily revised and shortened and shall be subject to amendments as and when thought appropriate.
1) Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron (Kundan Shah)
2) Anand (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
3) Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
4) Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont)
5) Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis)
6) Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky)
7) Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant)
8) Memento (Christopher Nolan)
9) Boys Don’t Cry (Kimberley Peirce)
10) Schindler’s List (Steven Spielberg)
11) Waking Life (Richard Linklater)
12) Cidade de Deus (Fernando Mereilles)
13) Trois Colouers Rouge (Kriestof Kizelowsky)
14) Fight Club (David Fincher)
15) No Smoking (Anurag Kashyap)
16) Visitor Q (Takashi Miike)
17) 3-Iron (Kim ki Duk)
18) Stalker (Andrei Tarkovsky)
19) 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick)
20) Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino)
21) 2046 (Wang kar Wai)
22) Dil Se (Mani Ratnam)
23) Siddheshwari (Mani Kaul)
24) Kramashah (Amit Dutta)
25) Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer)
26) Court (Chaitanya Tamhane)
27) Whiplash ()
Also
1) Pyasa (Guru Dutt)
2) Satya (Ram Gopal Varma)
3) The Others (Alejandro Amenábar)
4) Golmaal (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
5) Dil Chahta Hai (Farhan Akhtar)
6) The Pianist (Roman Polanski)
7) Gandhi (Richard Attenborough)
8) As Good As it Gets (James L Brooks)
9) Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg)
10) Platoon (Oliver Stone)
11) Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino)
12) Muhafiz (Ismail Merchant)
13) Salaam Bombay (Meera Nayar)
14) Maqbool (Vishal Bharadwaj)
15) Andaaz Apna Apna (Rajkumar Santoshi)
16) Guide (Vijay Anand)
17) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
18) Dead Poet's Society (Peter Weir)
19) Life is Beautiful (Roberto Benigni)
20) Philadelphia (Jonathan Demme)
21) The Maltese Falcon (John Huston)
22) Matrix Trilogy (Wachowsky Brothers)
23) Black (Sanjay Leela Bhansali)
24) The Machinist (Brad Anderson)
25) Anaadi (Hrishikesh Mukherjee)
26) Persona (Ingmar Bergman)
27) Omkara (Vishal Bharadwaj)
28) Black Friday (Anurag Kashyap)
29) Sholay (Ramesh Sippy)
30) Lagaan (Ashutosh Gowarikar)
31) 8 1/2 (Federico Fellini)
32) Apu Trilogy (Satyajit Ray)
33) Network (Sidney Lumet)
34) Monsoon Wedding (Mira Nair)
35) The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
36) Ed Wood (Tim Burton)
37) Amores Perros (Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu)
38) Kung Fu Hustle (Stephen Chow)
39) Cinema Paradiso (Giuseppe Tornatore)
40) The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (Peter Jackson)
41) The Blairwitch Project (Daniel Myrick & Eduardo Sánchez)
42) Shutter (Banjong Pisanthanakun & Parkpoom Wongpoom)
43) El Laberinto del Fauno (Guillermo del Toro)
44) Vengeance Trilogy (Park Chan-wook)
45) Annie Hall (Woody Allen)
46) La Haine (Mathieu Kassovitz)
47) Chinatown (Roman Polanski)
48) Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
49) September (Woody Allen)
50) A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan)
51) Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson)
52) Stardust Memories (Woody Allen)
53) Unbreakable (Manoj Night Shyamalan)
54) Cloverfield (Matt Reeves)
55) The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
56) Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring (Kim Ki-duk)
57) Half Ticket (Kalidas)
58) Happiness (Todd Solondz)
59) Gozu (Takashi Miike)
60) A Tale of Two Sisters (Kim ji Woon)
61) Dumplings (Fruit Chan)
62) Chasing Amy (Kevin Smith)
63) Khosla ka Ghosla (Dibakar Bannerjee)
64) Grindhouse (Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino)
65) Deconstructing Harry (Woody Allen)
66) Adaptation (Spike Jonze)
67) The Purple Rose of Cairo (Woody Allen)
68) The Isle (Kim ki Duk)
69) Bad Guy (Kim ki Duk)
70) In the Mood for Love (Wong kar Wai)
71) Sin City (Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller)
72) Palindromes (Todd Solondz)
73) Revolutionary Road (Sam Mendes)
74) Oasis (Lee Chang-Dong)
75) Achilles and the Tortoise (Takeshi Kitano)
76) Man Bites Dog (Rémy Belvaux)
77) Chhoti si Baat (Basu Chatterjee)
78) Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
79) Head On (Fatih Akin)
80) Taxidermia (György Pálfi)
81) Hunger (Steve McQueen)
82) Dogville (Lars von Trier)
83) Zelig (Woody Allen)
84) The Aviator (Martin Scorcese)
85) The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks)
86) Pinjar (Chandraprakash Dwivedi)
87) 4 (Ilya Khrzhanovsky)
PS: The list is heavily revised and shortened and shall be subject to amendments as and when thought appropriate.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Books read post January '08
1) The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Volume 1)
2) The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Volume 2)
3) Preludes Nocturnes (The Sandman Volume 1)
4) The Doll's House (The Sandman Volume 2)
5) Dream Country (The Sandman Volume 3)
6) A Season of Mists (The Sandman Volume 4)
7) A Game of You (The Sandman Volume 5)
8) Fables Reflections (The Sandman Volume 6)
9) Brief Lives (The Sandman Volume 7)
10)World's End (The Sandman Volume 8)
11)The Kindly Ones (The Sandman Volume 9)
12)The Wake (The Sandman Volume 10)
13)A Wizard of Earthsea -- Ursula K Le Guin
14)The Black Book -- Orhan Pamuk
2) The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Volume 2)
3) Preludes Nocturnes (The Sandman Volume 1)
4) The Doll's House (The Sandman Volume 2)
5) Dream Country (The Sandman Volume 3)
6) A Season of Mists (The Sandman Volume 4)
7) A Game of You (The Sandman Volume 5)
8) Fables Reflections (The Sandman Volume 6)
9) Brief Lives (The Sandman Volume 7)
10)World's End (The Sandman Volume 8)
11)The Kindly Ones (The Sandman Volume 9)
12)The Wake (The Sandman Volume 10)
13)A Wizard of Earthsea -- Ursula K Le Guin
14)The Black Book -- Orhan Pamuk
Monday, April 28, 2008
On Blogging (Part 2)
Among friends, it is well known that a certain Mr SatyaVrat insists on reasons and purposes before doing anything (even before thinking or taking a dump). As chance will have it, I have had 'reasons' to believe that being reasonable may not be reasonable after all and so purpose and direction and reason seem not that important to me.
So why is it that I keep blogging and don't let go of it just as I have done with so many things that I have begun doing and enjoying? What reasons are there for this behaviour (if any)? Let's just analyse and see for ourselves.
A trivial sort of explanation is that ever since I stopped chatting or social networking (about ten months back), I have been out of touch with people and that blogging is a far more creative way to keep in touch with friends than Orkutting.
However, this is not the most important reason.
I have found that reading older posts gives a glimpse of what one used to be. It is like looking over old family albums and discovering what you used to be when you ran naked around the house. Such re-reads are often accompanied with contempt, annoyance, bafflement, pleasure and even a tinge of nostalgia. It's like having your mugshots taken every other day and shown in rapid succession to you after a considerable lapse of time.
"Ah!", you would have said. "I sucked...", or "I always kicked ass" or "I hate myself and I want to die" etc etc. It puts a lot of things in perspective and helps you keep track of your personal evolution over a period of time, which in my opinion, is about as important as sleeping twelve hours a day. Hence the blog title introduction is that which it is.
So the persistence of an action over a period of time leads me to think of reasons why I do that which I do. This was On Blogging, perhaps we'll post about something else some other day.
So why is it that I keep blogging and don't let go of it just as I have done with so many things that I have begun doing and enjoying? What reasons are there for this behaviour (if any)? Let's just analyse and see for ourselves.
A trivial sort of explanation is that ever since I stopped chatting or social networking (about ten months back), I have been out of touch with people and that blogging is a far more creative way to keep in touch with friends than Orkutting.
However, this is not the most important reason.
I have found that reading older posts gives a glimpse of what one used to be. It is like looking over old family albums and discovering what you used to be when you ran naked around the house. Such re-reads are often accompanied with contempt, annoyance, bafflement, pleasure and even a tinge of nostalgia. It's like having your mugshots taken every other day and shown in rapid succession to you after a considerable lapse of time.
"Ah!", you would have said. "I sucked...", or "I always kicked ass" or "I hate myself and I want to die" etc etc. It puts a lot of things in perspective and helps you keep track of your personal evolution over a period of time, which in my opinion, is about as important as sleeping twelve hours a day. Hence the blog title introduction is that which it is.
So the persistence of an action over a period of time leads me to think of reasons why I do that which I do. This was On Blogging, perhaps we'll post about something else some other day.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The Possessed
The feverish drum beats pulsated in her rhythmic movements. Her hands stretched, pointing skywards, as if imploring Mother to take her in Her arms.
The jungle beat took control of her as she found herself suddenly in the grips of a Force far greater than that of all shamans combined. Mother cradled the baby in her arms and she swayed gently to the inexorable hum of the Divine Rhythm.
A mere puppet...a pawn in the Great Scheme of Things she was. Euphoria rushed through her as she felt Mother speak to her in Her Voice. A sudden surge of blood to the head, a sudden flash of Wisdom.
And then, heard those who Witnessed.
Running in the family
Huh
It runs in the family...
Hey baby
Running in the family
Yeah
It runs in the famileeeeeeeeeee...eeeaaayh!
The jungle beat took control of her as she found herself suddenly in the grips of a Force far greater than that of all shamans combined. Mother cradled the baby in her arms and she swayed gently to the inexorable hum of the Divine Rhythm.
A mere puppet...a pawn in the Great Scheme of Things she was. Euphoria rushed through her as she felt Mother speak to her in Her Voice. A sudden surge of blood to the head, a sudden flash of Wisdom.
And then, heard those who Witnessed.
Running in the family
Huh
It runs in the family...
Hey baby
Running in the family
Yeah
It runs in the famileeeeeeeeeee...eeeaaayh!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
On Idioms and Idiots
Did I tell you of the time when Ghongha Basant had a girlfriend? (It's true. He did have one). No? Well then...
The girl was beautiful and smart. She used to sit quietly with her elbows hunched over her knees. Her long hair used to fall over her ears onto her shoulders as she would close her eyes and take yet another deep puff of smoke from her joint. Every non homosexual kid in the neighbourhood was, at least at one point in his life, deeply in love with her.
The onslaught of Time has caused the name of the girl to have been forgotten (Ghongha never told me her name. Maybe he was bluffing). I choose to call her Jenny for want of a better option and for the fact that it reminds me of Robin Wright in Forrest Gump.
Those who knew/were friends of Ghongha (like a certain someone called Nanga Fakir), were shell shocked when they got to know this. When together, they concurred that the girl was the most foolish they had come across. When alone, they bemoaned rampant injustice in the world. Anyway, back to the story.
Ghongha and his girl were lying on the grass on a cool night staring at the stars. Romance was in the air, thanks to the fact that Ghongha had read the last copy of the book How to Cootchie-Coo? from the library last night.
Jenny: The night's so beautiful! I remember the time when I was a kid. I used to sleep on the roof just so I could see the stars while I sang myself to sleep.
When Ghongha was a kid he used to catch frogs from the black, sludgy pond near his house and tear them to pieces for want of better things to do. But the Cootchie Coo book expressly forbade recounting of old emotional tales of battered, abused childhoods at romantic events. So Ghongha decided to play safe and stay quiet.
Jenny, probably overwhelmed by happy memories of a blissful childhood, snuggled into Ghongha and put her arms around him.
Jenny: I am so glad I found you. Love's such a beautiful thing! I love you so much!
The Animal inside Ghongha raised his head. The Book had forbidden this too. So he bit his lip hard and resisted the Animal.
Jenny: So...
Ghongha: So what?
Jenny: Let me ask you ask a question.
Ghongha: Uh huh...
Jenny: Was there any girl other than me in your life?
Ghongha remembered all the imaginary girlfriends he had had over the last five years. And he smiled a wry smile. "No...imaginary beings don't count", he remembered.
Ghongha: Nope...never.
Jenny: Is it??? No...you're lying.
Ghongha: No, it's the truth.
Jenny: Don't you feel attracted to other women? It's okay, you can tell me. I won't be mad. It's human after all. Doesn't that dirty mind of yours ever think about other girls who are soooo pretty? Ha? C'mon...
She laughed a short laugh, her pearly teeth flashing all over the place. Ghongha's heart skipped a beat and something inside him contracted sharply at the sight of such a heartbreakingly beautiful sight.
He wanted to hold her tight and scream into her ears all he had ever felt about her. He wanted to tell her that she was the only one who had ever treated him like a human. He wanted to tell her his life story, about the experiments he had performed on animals, about the many people he'd fucked over, about the twin imaginary sister-girlfriends Kiki and Boo Boo he had met when he was left to drown in the sludge pond at the age of thirteen. But he couldn't.
Damn that book. "You can win...", it said. "...if you play smart and impress the other sex".
Ghongha smiled a wicked grin.
Ghongha: No I don't think about other girls when I am with you.
Jenny: (with extreme happiness) You're kidding me! Why do you do that? Is there a reason?
Ghongha prepared for the punchline, the killer blow which would knock anybody up, kill two birds with one stone...
Ghongha: A bird in hand is worth two in the bush.
...
How did the idiom go? A slap in time saves nine...eh?
The girl was beautiful and smart. She used to sit quietly with her elbows hunched over her knees. Her long hair used to fall over her ears onto her shoulders as she would close her eyes and take yet another deep puff of smoke from her joint. Every non homosexual kid in the neighbourhood was, at least at one point in his life, deeply in love with her.
The onslaught of Time has caused the name of the girl to have been forgotten (Ghongha never told me her name. Maybe he was bluffing). I choose to call her Jenny for want of a better option and for the fact that it reminds me of Robin Wright in Forrest Gump.
Those who knew/were friends of Ghongha (like a certain someone called Nanga Fakir), were shell shocked when they got to know this. When together, they concurred that the girl was the most foolish they had come across. When alone, they bemoaned rampant injustice in the world. Anyway, back to the story.
Ghongha and his girl were lying on the grass on a cool night staring at the stars. Romance was in the air, thanks to the fact that Ghongha had read the last copy of the book How to Cootchie-Coo? from the library last night.
Jenny: The night's so beautiful! I remember the time when I was a kid. I used to sleep on the roof just so I could see the stars while I sang myself to sleep.
When Ghongha was a kid he used to catch frogs from the black, sludgy pond near his house and tear them to pieces for want of better things to do. But the Cootchie Coo book expressly forbade recounting of old emotional tales of battered, abused childhoods at romantic events. So Ghongha decided to play safe and stay quiet.
Jenny, probably overwhelmed by happy memories of a blissful childhood, snuggled into Ghongha and put her arms around him.
Jenny: I am so glad I found you. Love's such a beautiful thing! I love you so much!
The Animal inside Ghongha raised his head. The Book had forbidden this too. So he bit his lip hard and resisted the Animal.
Jenny: So...
Ghongha: So what?
Jenny: Let me ask you ask a question.
Ghongha: Uh huh...
Jenny: Was there any girl other than me in your life?
Ghongha remembered all the imaginary girlfriends he had had over the last five years. And he smiled a wry smile. "No...imaginary beings don't count", he remembered.
Ghongha: Nope...never.
Jenny: Is it??? No...you're lying.
Ghongha: No, it's the truth.
Jenny: Don't you feel attracted to other women? It's okay, you can tell me. I won't be mad. It's human after all. Doesn't that dirty mind of yours ever think about other girls who are soooo pretty? Ha? C'mon...
She laughed a short laugh, her pearly teeth flashing all over the place. Ghongha's heart skipped a beat and something inside him contracted sharply at the sight of such a heartbreakingly beautiful sight.
He wanted to hold her tight and scream into her ears all he had ever felt about her. He wanted to tell her that she was the only one who had ever treated him like a human. He wanted to tell her his life story, about the experiments he had performed on animals, about the many people he'd fucked over, about the twin imaginary sister-girlfriends Kiki and Boo Boo he had met when he was left to drown in the sludge pond at the age of thirteen. But he couldn't.
Damn that book. "You can win...", it said. "...if you play smart and impress the other sex".
Ghongha smiled a wicked grin.
Ghongha: No I don't think about other girls when I am with you.
Jenny: (with extreme happiness) You're kidding me! Why do you do that? Is there a reason?
Ghongha prepared for the punchline, the killer blow which would knock anybody up, kill two birds with one stone...
Ghongha: A bird in hand is worth two in the bush.
...
How did the idiom go? A slap in time saves nine...eh?
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Delusions of Grandeur
Shing Tung Yau, Dennis Sullivan, Edward Witten, Isadore Singer, C.N. Yang, John Morgan, James Simons, John Milnor listened in rapt attention (with mouths agape) as Nanga Fakir explained to them the secrets of his recently acquired superpower of dividing by zero.
...
Nah...it was the other way round.
Link
...
Nah...it was the other way round.
Link
Monday, March 24, 2008
Welcome my Son, Welcome...to the Machine
Please join me in welcoming the new force in the Indian Comic Book/Graphic Novel Industry - Somnath Pal.
He has finished his first comic book which is about 25 pages in length and called ANTH (The End). I will, by the end of the post give links to his blog (which is atrocious wherein he does nothing but rant) and also include some of the artwork of his first comic book.
I can also revel in the glory-by-proxy which I am sure to experience in the future by virtue of the fact that Somnath Pal has been a friend for over nine years. He has been a fellow Engineering student (he holds a Bachelors in Electrical Engineering) and fellow fuck up. The glory-by-proxy is also extended to fellow bloggers Pandu, Ra and AK who have had the misfortune of knowing him.
This is where he blogs -- Sami In Chains.
So welcooooooooooooooooome...to the Machiiiiiiiiine.
He has finished his first comic book which is about 25 pages in length and called ANTH (The End). I will, by the end of the post give links to his blog (which is atrocious wherein he does nothing but rant) and also include some of the artwork of his first comic book.
I can also revel in the glory-by-proxy which I am sure to experience in the future by virtue of the fact that Somnath Pal has been a friend for over nine years. He has been a fellow Engineering student (he holds a Bachelors in Electrical Engineering) and fellow fuck up. The glory-by-proxy is also extended to fellow bloggers Pandu, Ra and AK who have had the misfortune of knowing him.
This is where he blogs -- Sami In Chains.
So welcooooooooooooooooome...to the Machiiiiiiiiine.
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